wcv vwv ’ j 





• ' ;l - - . . • • : *ii4 









LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap. Copyright Ko,.. , 

Shelf (o 

--ho 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






mM 




wmm«irr- 


-iti 















r* |»i 




C-H-iis. 


L ; 


THE COTTAGE WAS IN FLAMES. Frontisj>ie(e. 















BOUND TO RISE 

OR 

The Young Florists of Spring Hill 

AND 

WALTER LORING’S CAREER 


BY 

/ 

ALLEN CHAPMAN 

r* 



NEW YORK 

THE MERSHON COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


74243 

Librxry of Conspires* 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 12 1900 

Copyright entry 

SECOND COPY 

0«(ivored to 

ORDER DIVISION 

NOV 16 1900 



Copyright, igoo, 

BY 

THE MERSHON COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

I. 

A Dark Outlook, . 



I 

II. 

Something about the Atherton Boys, 


6 

III. 

Dan’s Setback, 

• • 


II 

IV. 

The Boys Talk It Over, 

• • 


17 

V. 

Reaching a Conclusion, 

• • 


24 

VI. 

“Fire!” 



30 

VII. 

The Volunteer Fire Department, 


35 

VIII. 

Inspecting the Farm, 

• • 


41 

IX. 

Peter Cassady, 

• • 


47 

X. 

Moving from the City, 

• • 


52 

XI. 

Settling Down to Work, 

• • 


59 

XII. 

Hard Times, .... 

• • 


65 

XIII. 

The Boys and the Bull, 



70 

XIV. 

Serious Threats, 



74 

XV. 

Potting the Plants, 

• > 


79 

XVI. 

The First Sale, 

• • 


84 

XVII. 

Midnight Visitors, . . 

• • 


88 

XVIII. 

Encouraging News, 

• « 


93 

XIX. 

The New Heliotrope, . 

• • 


lOI 


WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 



I. 

A Deed of Mystery, 



105 

II. 

More of a Mystery, 

• 

• 

III 

III. 

The Attack in the Woods, . 

* 

• 

116 

IV. 

Walter Obtains an Opening, 

♦ • 


121 

V. 

A Strange Meeting, 

• • 


127 


iii 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

VI. A Death — Is the Secret Lost? . . .132 

VII. The Secret Drawer, 137 

VIII. The Face at the Window, . . . .141 

IX. Barker’s Demands, 148 

X. A Second Visit, 153 

XI. A Direct Question, 156 

XII. Ben’s Queer Story, 164 

XIII. Walter’s Father, 171 

XIV. Hard Times, 176 

XV. About the Tin Box, 181 

XVI. A Chase in the Fog 187 

XVII. A Thrilling Moment — Conclusion, . . 193 


BOUND TO RISE. 


CHAPTER I. 

A DARK OUTLOOK. 

“Well, Frank, what luck?” 

“ None at all, Archie. It’s the same old story 
everywhere; no place open. It does beat the 
nation, doesn’t it ? ” And with a long-drawn 
sigh Frank Atherton flung his hat on the table 
and dropped on one of the kitchen chairs. 

Archie, who had been peeling potatoes for din- 
ner and was now in the act of dropping them into 
the pot on the stove, paused long enough in his 
operations to inquire : “ Did you try Fetwood & 
Lansing, and Hochman, Fiedler & Co. ? ” 

“ I tried every one of the firms, and a lot of 
strangers besides. I walked from here clear 
down to the Battery and back. But it was no 


2 


BOUND TO RISE. 


use, and I might have saved my shoe leather.” 
And Frank gazed rather ruefully at his shoes, 
both of which were sadly in need of repair. 
Archie put the potatoes in the pot, dropped the 
lid in place, and then began to tidy up the sink. 

“ I am sure I don’t know what we are going to 
do,” he remarked slowly. “ Dan can’t support 
the three of us. His seven dollars a week simply 
won’t do it, no matter how hard we economize. 
Of course, we might move into one room in a 
tenement ” 

“ No, I’d die living like that ! ” burst out Frank. 
“ I hate even a small flat like this — all cooped up 
like turkeys being fattened for market ! ” 

“ Only we’re not getting fat ! ” laughed Archie. 
“ If this state of affairs keeps up much longer 
we’ll either have to cut down our store bills or 
else go in rags. This is the only suit I’ve got 
outside of my Sunday best, and look at it — worn 
so thin you could almost use it for mosquito net- 
ting!” 

Frank rammed his fists into his pockets and 
sprang to his feet. “ Something has got to be 
done, and that’s all there is to it. I’m not going 


A DARK OUTLOOK. 


3 


to stand idly by and see Dan supporting all of us. 
It isn’t fair.” 

“ I wish I was strong enough to work out,” 
said Archie, his otherwise bright face clouding 
over for the instant. “ But ever since that heavy 
Broadway truck ran over my left leg I don’t seem 
to be able to pull myself together.” 

“ Don’t you worry, Archie, your leg will be all 
right some day ; the hospital doctor said so. And 
you are doing your full share in keeping house 
for Dan and me,” went on Frank, by way of com- 
forting his younger brother. “ But I am strong 
and healthy, more so even than Dan, and it isn’t 
right that I should be idle.” 

“ It’s not your fault that Mr. Gibson failed and 
left you without a job.” 

“ No, but sometimes I think that I am too par- 
ticular about what I want to do. I might get 
work in some factory, or I might become a street 
peddler ” 

“ Which Dan never would agree to,” broke in 
Archie. “ Besides, I imagine the factories are 
all full, and as a street peddler it isn’t likely that 
you would make your salt.” 


4 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ Perhaps I might, selling shoe laces, ‘ dree 
pairs for fife cent ’ ! ” and Frank cried out the last 
words in exact imitation of the numerous street- 
curb venders he had heard. 

“ Imagine you standing on a corner with a big 
tray strapped around your neck!” laughed 
Archie. “ ‘ This way, gents, for your gold- 
plated collar buttons, three for a dime,’ or ‘ Your 
choice of these elegant silk neckties ten cents, 
while they last ! ’ It would give me a fit to see 
you I ” 

And then both boys laughed at the mental 
picture which had been drawn. 

I might become an agent of some sort,” went 
on Frank, at length. I see an awful lot of ad- 
vertisements in the want columns of the papers 
for that class of workers.” 

“ Dan says they are mostly humbugs. He 
was speaking about them only yesterday. A 
man has either got to have experience or lots of 
nerve, and you have neither.” 

“ Well, then, there isn’t anything for me to do 
but to sit down and wait for a situation to drop 
into my lap,” returned Frank half-irritably. 


A DARK OUTLOOK. 


5 


“ Perhaps Dan will have good news for you. 
He’ll be home to dinner in ten or fifteen minutes,” 
said Archie, by way of soothing his brother’s dis- 
appointment. “ If you want to help you can set 
the table while I fry the steak,” he went on, think- 
ing that a little work just then would keep Frank 
from brooding over his ill luck. 

His brother at once sprang up from the lounge 
upon which he had thrown himself, and with a 
jerk removed the red-and-white table cover. 
Then he spread the white linen, and this was fol- 
lowed by a rattle of dishes in the closet as he 
brought out plates, saucers, and cups for the mid- 
day meal. 


CHAPTER II. 


SOMETHING ABOUT THE ATHERTON BOYS. 

The Atherton brothers were three in number. 
The oldest was Dan, age eighteen; then came 
Frank, two years younger, followed by Archibald, 
two years younger still. They were bright, 
manly young fellows, although close confinement 
to a clerk’s desk in a dry goods emporium had 
taken the ruddy color from Dan’s cheeks, and 
Archie was still suffering from a painful accident 
which had happened eight months before. 

The three brothers were orphans. Mr. John 
Atherton, the father, had died three years before, 
while Frank and Archie were still attending 
school. He had been a whole-souled farmer and 
produce merchant, with a farm out on Long 
Island and a place of business in a basement on 
Barclay Street, New York. At his death he had 
left his wife the sum of two thousand dollars, and 
with this to her credit in the bank Mrs. Atherton, 


ABOUT THE ATHERTON BOYS. ^ 

who was city born and bred, had come to New 
York to make her living and give her sons such 
advantages as the metropolis might afford. 

In her younger days Mrs. Atherton had been 
quite an amateur artist, and she fondly hoped to 
earn a good living by her brush. But she soon 
discovered that working for her friends and 
working for strangers, who were expected to pay, 
were different things, and, while she got some 
few orders, they paid poorly, and at the end of 
the first year in New York she found herself with 
less than a thousand dollars on hand, three boys 
still to support, and with no prospects for the 
future. 

It was then that the matter was talked over 
with Daniel, her oldest son, a quiet, thoughtful 
youth, who had many of the traits of his father 
about him. Dan at once avowed his intention of 
going to work, and he procured a situation for 
himself in less than a week, and soon after an- 
other for his brother Frank. 

The fact that the two boys were working and 
bringing home twelve dollars weekly between 
them was a great relief to Mrs. Atherton’s mind, 


8 


BOUND TO RISE. 


but hardly had the cloud which had appeared been 
dispersed than another, far darker than the first, 
loomed up. 

The loving mother was taken sick with a 
strange malady, which the doctors agreed she had 
contracted while sitting over her paints and oils. 
At first she complained of a pain in the head and 
was forced to lie down; then the pain went down 
to her back, and finally it attacked her heart, and 
one night, exactly six weeks after the first signs 
of sickness, the boys found themselves motherless 
and alone in the world. 

No pen could describe their grief. For a while 
it seemed to each one of them as if the end of the 
world had come. They stood around in a dazed 
way when kind neighbors came in and arranged 
for the funeral, and when it was all over and Mrs. 
Atherton had been placed beside her husband in 
that little lot in the cemetery out on Long Island 
they returned to the flat in New York miserable 
beyond expression and wondering if anyone had 
ever had such trouble before. 

But youth is strong and hopeful, and their 
grief, though deep and sincere, did not last. The 


ABOUT THE ATHERTON BOYS. 9 

busy city was about them, they must now depend 
upon themselves, and the three boys went to work 
with a will to earn their own living. Dan and 
Frank remained where they were, and soon after 
Archie procured a situation in a stationery store 
to mind a stand and deliver papers and packages. 

Matters went along very well in this fashion 
until the day came when poor Archie was knocked 
down in Broadway and run over. He was 
carried to a hospital, and here lay for many weeks, 
unable to move his lower limbs. When at last 
he was well enough to be removed in a carriage 
it was found that he could not stand up on his left 
leg for any great length of time. The doctors 
said that all of the cords had been strained as 
well as bruised, and that it might take months, 
and even years, before it would be strong enough 
to be relied upon as before the accident. 

Of course. Archie could not return to his situa- 
tion, and so from that time on he remained at 
home and did the work which heretofore the 
brothers had divided between them. Luckily, he 
had often helped his mother, so he now did what 
was needed as well as the average girl. Some of 


to 


BOUND TO RISE. 


the other boys who lived in the house had nick- 
named him Polly, because of this, but he did not 
mind and only laughed at them and told them that 
he would not be entitled to that name until his 
curls grew a bit longer. 

Mrs. Atherton’s sickness and Archie’s accident 
had caused the family savings to dwindle to 
exactly seven hundred dollars, which amount was 
now jealously guarded by all three. Frank 
openly declared he would not touch the money 
until he was next-door to becoming a tramp, and 
Dan and Archie silently agreed with him; indeed 
the latter was often downcast, thinking that his 
accident had taken nearly a hundred dollars from 
the former capital. 

‘‘ That hundred dollars would have bought 
each of us a brand-new outfit, from shoes to hat,” 
he said to himself. ‘‘ And now, as it is, Frank’s 
next-door to being barefooted and Dan’s’s coat is 
so shiny at the elbows you can see your face in it. 
I wish I could just make a pot of money, I do, 
indeed ! ” 


CHAPTER III. 
dan's setback. 

Archie thought about the pot of money as he 
stood over the little cook stove frying a tiny steak 
he had purchased at the corner butcher shop. 
His face was hot and flushed, and every now and 
then he would take the fore part of his arm to 
brush back those curls which always would come 
down into his face. 

“ Maybe, if I was a girl, I could make some 
money as a cook,” he said to himself. “ But I 
am not even lucky enough to be born a girl,” he 
laughed. “ Oh, I do hope Dan has good news 
for Frank! ” 

The steak was well done — Dan and Frank liked 
it best that way — and set back on the stove to 
keep warm, and then Archie poured the water 
off the potatoes and put them in the oven to steam 

II 




BOUND TO RISE. 


dry. There was also some canned corn in a 
saucepan, and this he stirred up and seasoned to 
suit. 

“ The table is set,” said Frank, with a final clat- 
ter of knives, forks, and spoons. “ Is there any- 
thing else I can do? ” 

“You might cut a few slices of bread and get 
the butter out of the pantry,” returned Archie, as 
he set to work to tidy up a bit and wash his hands 
and face. “ My, but it’s warm work over the 
stove! ” 

“ Spring is coming; that is why you feel so 
warm, Archie. Supposing I open one of the 
back windows. The wind comes from the 
front.” 

Archie agreed, and Frank threw up the sash 
to its fullest extent, letting in the fresh February 
air. Then both sat down to wait for their elder 
brother. 

The old-fashioned clock on the parlor mantel 
had struck twelve a quarter of an hour before, and 
now it was time for Dan to make his appearance. 
Frank, who was hungry because of his long walk, 
began to nibble at a piece of bread. 


DAN'S SETBACK. 


13 


Ten minutes passed — a long time it seemed 
just then — and then Archie arose and limped 
through the bedrooms into the parlor. 

“ The steak will be spoiled,” he observed to 
Frank, who had followed him. “ Dan was never 
so late before — that is, not since the Christmas 
holidays.” 

The two stood in front of the one large parlor 
window, which commanded a view of the corner 
opposite, around which their brother must soon 
make his way. In the street below the people 
were rushing up and down, while the rattle of 
wagons and trucks was incessant. They were up 
two flights, so that the noise was not loud enough 
to disturb them. 

“ It’s an awful big and an awful bustling 
place,” said Frank, as if half speaking to himself. 
“ But I can’t say that I like it much. I would 
rather be in a smaller place, or even in the coun- 
try.” ‘ 

“ I don’t care for the city much myself,” re- 
turned Archie, even more slowly. “ Somehow, 
you can’t rush outdoors in the sunshine like you 
can when there are nothing but green fields 


14 


BOUND TO RISE. 


around you. The city is so penned in that it 
fairly contracts your chest to look at it.” 

“ I don’t wonder that father didn’t care to 
move here while he was alive. He often said it 
was good enough to do business in, but that was 
all.” 

“ Oh, I dare say it’s nice enough if you are rich 
and can live uptown in a fine neighborhood. 
But it’s no place for poor people, although they 
say there are loads of poor people who would 
rather die in the city than move away. Oh, 
Frank, look at the bird on the telegraph wire 
over there ! ” went on Archie, with a sudden cry. 
“ Is it possible that it’s a robin, so early in the 
year ? ” 

“ It certainly looks like a robin, Archie. Poor 
thing! How cold it must be! and how out of 
place it must feel here, with nothing but brick and 
stone on every hand ! ” 

Maybe I can coax it to the window sill with 
some bread crumbs, Frank. Open the window 
softly.” 

Frank did as commanded, and Archie hurried 
off for the bread. But long before he returned 


DAN'S SETBACK. 15 

the bird had left its perch and disappeared over 
the house-tops. 

“ Gone ! ” said Frank, as he closed the window. 
“ Gone — to find a home in some meadow or 
orchard far away, I suppose,” he added. “ I 
wish I was a bird; I’d get out of New York too,” 

“Would you, really, Frank? Well, I don’t 
know but what — oh, here comes Dan at last ! ” 

Both of the brothers pressed their faces against 
the cold window pane to see Dan leave the pave- 
ment opposite and cut diagonally across the street, 
through the maze of moving vehicles, to the en- 
trance of the flat house. Then they walked back 
to the kitchen, and Archie hastened to place the 
dinner on the table. 

Usually Dan came up the stairs two steps at a 
time and burst open the door with a rush, but 
to-day they heard him ascending the stairs slowly. 
He hesitated at the door, with his hand on the 
knob. When at last he did come in they saw by 
a single glance at his troubled face that some- 
thing had gone wrong. 

“What’s the matter?” questioned Frank, in 
quick alarm, and Archie looked the same question. 


i6 


BOUND TO RI$E. 


Dan took a long breath, and, walking across 
the kitchen, hung his hat up on the peg in the 
corner. Then he turned and faced his two 
brothers, and there was a slight quiver on his lips, 

“ Tve been discharged,” he said, and turned 
away. 

“Discharged!” ejaculated Archie and Frank 
simultaneously. “ Surely, you do not mean it, 
Dan ? ” went on the latter. 

“ Yes, I do. This is to be my last week at Bon- 
tiere & Cragg’s. They gave me the notice’ this 
morning, so that I might have a chance to look 
for another place. Trade is so light, they say, 
that they are going to lay off four of us at once.” 

Frank and Archie looked at each other in dis- 
may. With Dan out of employment and them- 
selves doing nothing, what would happen next ? 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE BOYS TALK IT OVER. 

“ It's a shame, that’s what it is ! ” burst out 
Archie, who was the first to speak. “ I thought 
they said the place would be permanent.” 

“ They said they would try to make it so. But 
trade has become too bad for them,” returned 
Dan, as he sank down in a chair. “ I suppose 
they are not to blame.” 

“ But — but what are you going to do now ? ” 
questioned Frank, with a blank look. 

“ I don’t know, Frank. Did you have any 
luck this morning ? ” 

“ Not the least bit, although I nearly walked 
my legs off. The dullness isn’t confined to Bon- 
tiere & Cragg’s business alone, but it’s the same 
everywhere.” 

“ I know it. I stopped at two places on the 
way home, looking for another situation, and all 
to no purpose.” 


l8 BOUND TO RISE. 

“ Well, I don’t know.” Frank bit his finger 
nail thoughtfully. “ We can’t all of us remain 
idle. Our savings would soon dwindle down to 
nothing.” 

“ Oh, we mustn’t think of touching that for 
living purposes ! ” cried Archie. “ You want 
that to go in business with some day, you 
know.” 

“ We won’t touch it until we actually have to,” 
said Dan. “ Archie, your dinner looks very nice, 
but I haven’t much heart to eat.” 

“ Nor I,” added Frank. “ Oh, but I am really 
sick of trying to get on in New York! Some- 
times I wish I had never seen the city 1 ” 

“ Well, as for that, I am rather sick of New 
York myself,” returned Dan slowly. “ I some- 
times believe a fellow would stand more show in 
a smaller place.” 

“Then supposing we get out?” said Archie, 
who never wasted time in reaching a conclusion. 

“But where shall we go?” asked Frank. 
“ We haven’t any prospects anywhere else.” 

“ Then let’s go back to the country. We can 
at least live cheaper there than we can here,” 


THE THREE TALKED IT OVER. 





THE BOYS TALK IT OVER. 


*9 


Both Dan and Frank laughed at Archie’s last 
remark, but almost instantly the face of the older 
brother grew serious. 

“We may have to go back to the country, if 
we can’t find anything to do in New York or some 
other city. We could buy a small farm with our 
money, and by working it ourselves probably 
make a living and a little more, too ! ” 

“ Hurrah ! Dan has solved the problem of 
how the Atherton brothers are to keep from 
starving ! ” cried Archie. “ And, that being so, 
let us all have our dinners.” 

And without waiting for Dan to carve, he took 
up the knife and fork and dealt out portions of 
the steak, and also dished out the potatoes and 
corn. 

The brothers were soon eating, and while doing 
so they discussed the situation from every pos- 
sible point of view. Frank related his morning’s 
experience in detail, to which the others listened 
with deep interest. 

“ But I won’t give up,” he said. “ I’m going 
out again when you go to work, Dan.” 

And out he did go, and did not return until 


30 


BOUND TO RISE. 


after the electric lights in the streets were turned 
on and Dan had been in for half an hour. 

It was the same old story; not a single situa- 
tion of any kind to be had. 

The remainder of the week slipped by rapidly, 
and on Saturday night Dan came home with his 
last pay in his vest pocket. 

“ Here you are, Archie,” he said, as he handed 
all but a dollar over to his younger brother. 
“ Make it last just as long as you can, even if you 
give us soup evfery day.” 

“ And no pie,” put in Frank, with a sorry little 
laugh. Frank had a great fondness for pie. 

“ Now, if we were in the country, I could bring 
out a pumpkin or some apples and make pie just 
the same,” said Archie. 

“ Goodness gracious ! then let us go back to the 
country by all means! ” burst out Frank, smack- 
ing his lips loudly. 

Dan, who had flung himself down on the couch, 
sprang up of a sudden and faced his brothers. 

‘‘ Look here. You two speak so much of the 
country, supposing we do go back? There is 
nothing here in New York for us.” 


THE BOYS TALK IT OVER. 


21 


“ Fm willing,” said Frank. ” I can’t stand 
doing nothing much longer.” 

“ But where would you go — back to Long 
Island ? ” queried Archie. 

“We can settle that later, Archie. The main 
thing is, do we want to go back — and become 
farmers ? ” 

“ I don’t care so very much for farming,” put 
in Frank. “ But there is one thing I do like, and 
I’ve been thinking of it ever since I visited that 
big flower store on Sixth Avenue the other day in 
search of a job. That is to become a florist and 
raise flowers for the city stores to sell.” 

“Would that pay?” asked Archie, with 
interest. “ Because, if it would, I wouldn’t 
like anything better. I have always loved 
flowers.” 

“ Sometimes it pays very well to raise potted 
plants and cut flowers for the city trade,” said 
Dan. “ There was Mr. Gilson did very well at 
it, and so did Sam Lauter. Of course, the main 
thing, after raising your flowers, is to make a deal 
with one or more stores to sell your stuff for you 
on commission, or buy it outright” 


32 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ And would you like that occupation, Dan ? ” 
asked Archie. 

“ I believe I would. I, too, always loved 
flowers, and I would like most anything that was 
honorable and would bring us in the dollars. But 
you must remember it is hard work, and often 
flowers do not turn out as well as you hoped they 
would, and then the market gets overstocked and 
the prices go down.” 

“ I wouldn’t mind the hard work,” said Frank. 
“ And I have an idea, Dan. It would be better 
for you than to be cramped up behind a desk all 
day.” 

“ Maybe it would, Frank. I must say I en- 
joyed outdoor work around the old home.” 

“ So did I ! ” cried Archie. “ Don’t you re- 
member how we used to feed the chickens and 
drive old Dolly from pasture? And what fun 
it was helping father and the hired men store 
the crops away and barrel the apples for ship- 
ment ! ” 

“And don’t you remember the flower beds?” 
added Frank. “Those big roses of all kinds, 
and the geraniums, and the asters and zinnias, 


THE BOYS TALK IT OVER. 

and all the rest ? My ! I can smell the mignonette 
and heliotrope yet ! ” 

“ And the honeysuckle over the porch and that 
monstrous bed of petunias down by the meadow 
lot/’ put in Dan, growing enthusiastic with the 
rest. “ It did make a lovely home, didn’t it, 
boys?” 

“ It was the best home a fellow could have,” 
said Frank. “ Beat brick and stone walls all hol- 
low ! Let us become florists and farmers, and 
leave the city to take care of itself.” 


CHAPTER V. 

REACHING A CONCLUSION. 

They talked the matter over until nearly eleven 
o’clock, and when they retired they had about half 
made up their mind to undertake what Frank 
suggested. But there were many difficulties in 
the way, and Dan advised that they think the 
matter over for at least a week longer, and in the 
meantime continue their search for employment 
in the city. 

“ If you are under salary you run no risk and 
know just what you can expect,” he said. 

All day long on Monday and Tuesday Dan 
went on a hunt for a situation, and so did Frank. 
In the meantime Archie kept house just as eco- 
nomically as possible and spent his spare time in 
poring over a book he possessed on floriculture 
and over several seed catalogues he obtained from 
various sources. 


*4 


REACHING A CONCLUSION. 25 

On Wednesday morning, still without employ- 
ment, Frank and Dan sat looking over the parts 
of a morning paper. They had hunted the want 
columns through in vain for something which 
might be worth looking up. Suddenly Frank 
gave a little cry. 

“Listen to this,” he said. “It’s among the 
real-estate advertisements : ‘ For sale in New 
Jersey, twenty miles from New York, a well- 
kept farm of seven acres, house of five rooms, 
barn, good greenhouse and frames, and cowshed. 
Well and brook on place, mile and half from 
station. Must be sold at once, as owner wishes 
to go to Europe. Address Mrs. Emil Burger, 
Spring Hill, N. J.’ What do you think of that ? ” 

“ Read it again,” said Archie, and Frank did 
so, while both of his brothers listened to every 
word. 

“ Greenhouse and frames strike us just right,” 
said Archie. “ But maybe the owner will want 
a good deal more for it than we care to pay.” 

“ I have a good mind to write and find out how 
much she asks, anyway. If she wants to go to 
Europe, perhaps she’ll sell cheap.” 


26 


BOUND TO RiSD. 


“ It will do no harm to write,” said Dan. “ If 
I am not mistaken, Spring Hill is a very pretty 
town back of the Orange Mountains. Father 
used to get his best strawberries from there.” 

“ Oh, yes, I remember it now,” said Frank. 
“ Father went up there once to see about berries. 
Supposing I write at once? Then if nothing 
turns up here and the reply is favorable, we can 
investigate further.” 

To this the others agreed, and Frank sat down 
and wrote his letter. In it he stated that he and 
his brothers were thinking of buying a small 
farm for flower growing and asked for more 
particulars, especially concerning the price, which 
must be low for cash. 

Two days passed, and then came a letter, writ- 
ten in an unmistakable German hand. In it Mrs. 
Burger, the owner of the place, wrote that Frank 
had better come out and look at the place, which 
she had been holding at a thousand dollars, and 
make an offer. She also added that she would 
sell cheap if she could fix the matter up and get 
cash before the twenty-fifth of the month. 

The boys read the letter with interest. It was 


REACHING A CONCLUSION. 27 

now the eighteenth, so that there was just a week 
in which to strike a bargain if they really meant 
business, as Frank put it. 

“ I would rather have Dan go up,” he said, 
though. “ He knows more about good land than 
I do.” 

' “ Let us all go up,” returned Dan. “ It won’t 

cost a fortune, and if we really intend to settle 
down in a place we ought everyone to be thor- 
oughly satisfied.” 

So it was arranged that they should pay a visit 
to Spring Hill on the coming Saturday, and a 
reply to that effect was immediately posted to 
Mrs. Burger. 

The three brothers were now thoroughly en- 
thusiastic on the point of flower growing, espe- 
cially so as nothing in the nature of a situation in 
the city had turned up for any of them. Dan, on 
consent of the others, spent three dollars for 
books on the subject, while Frank, even more 
practical, struck up an acquaintanceship with sev- 
eral florists and did odd jobs for them, just for 
the sake of “ catching points,” as he put it. 

On Saturday they started early for the depot. 


28 


BOUND TO RISE. 


and by nine o’clock had crossed the ferry and 
were on hoard the train. The ride was a very 
pleasant one, and they were surprised when the 
train came to a halt and the brakeman called out 

n 

the name of their destination. 

Spring Hill was a village containing not more 
than two dozen buildings, all told. There were 
two general stores and a blacksmith shop, located 
on the main street, and not far away could be seen 
the white steeple of a chapel. 

They inquired their way to the Burger farm, 
and then struck out on foot over the still frozen 
road, with here and there a patch of wet to show 
that spring was at hand, and that the frost was 
gradually leaving the soil. 

“ Ah! it smells good to get out in the country 
once morel ” exclaimed Frank, drawing in a deep 
breath of the pure and refreshing morning air. 
“ No horrid odors about this! ” 

“ It really makes my lame leg feel better, at 
least I imagine so,” returned Archie. “ See how 
I can get along on it.” 

And off he strutted in grand style, ahead of the 
others, for several yards. 


REACHING A CONCLUSION. *29 

“ Don’t overexert yourself, Archie,” warned 
Dan. “You may have a collapse, and then we’ll 
have to carry you.” 

“ I would get well out here in no time, I know 
I would,” said the younger brother, with a vigor- 
ous nod of his head. “ It’s just simply im- 
mense ! ” 

“ Well, that would be well worth coming to 
the country for, without anything else,” said 
Frank. “ But you had better do as Dan says, 
take it easy.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

On they went along the road, past half a dozen 
houses, and then out into the open, with nothing 
but fields and bushes upon either side. There 
was a brook to cross, with a rustic wooden bridge, 
and then came a bit of woods, where the ground 
was strewn with the burrs of various varieties of 
nuts. 

“ If we come out here we won’t want for nuts 
for the winter,” remarked Frank. “ And I just 
love to sit by a bright fire of a cold night and pick 
them!” 

“ Yes, and who knows but what we can gather 
a lot to sell,” said Dan, who was just then giving 
financial matters a goodly share of his attention. 
“ To fellows in our situation every dollar would 
count, for the first year or two.” 

The patch of woods was soon left behind, and 


30 


''FIRE! 


31 


then they began to ascend a winding road which 
led to the top of a round hill sloping for half a 
mile westward. 

Here the bushes ?^rew in profusion on both 
sides, blackberries, raspberries, wild roses, and a 
dozen others of which the boys did not know the 
names, and under them ran wild strawberries. 
Of course, there was yet not a speck of green to 
be seen. 

“ It certainly looks as if almost anything would 
grow here,” remarked Dan, as he took hold of 
Archie’s arm, for the lame boy was now showing 
signs of fatigue. “ It’s evidently a good, rich 
soil, and that is just what we want.” 

“ You are right,” replied Frank, as he ranged 
up upon Archie’s other side. “ For the richer it 
is the less we will have to spend in making it fer- 
tile. I had no idea fertilizers cost so much till I 
looked at the prices in the books.” 

“ Those are retail prices,” said Dan. “ You 
can get the stuff you want much cheaper by buy- 
ing directly from the factories where they are 
made.” 

“ We ought to be almost there,” put in Archie 


32 


BOUND TO RISE. 


faintly. “ Fm sure we have traveled a mile and 
a half.” 

“Not a country mile and a half,” laughed 
Frank. “ Here comes a boy; Fll ask him.” 

The boy mentioned was a ragged little chap 
scarcely eight years of age. He carried a milk 
pail full of milk in either hand. 

“ The Burger farm is the next house you come 
to,” he said, in reply to Frank’s inquiry. “ Say, 
are you some more folks to buy it ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” smiled Dan. “ Are there many 
looking at it ? ” 

“ Dad’s looking at it, and so is Mr. Cassady, 
but Mr. Cassady don’t want to pay much — so I 
heard marm say.” 

And without waiting for further questioning 
the boy hurried down the road. 

“ Evidently the farm is in demand,” com- 
mented Dan. “ And if that’s the case it’s 
likely we won’t be able to buy it at our own 
figure.” 

“Oh, don’t say that!” cried Archie. “ Fve 
just been setting my heart on this particular 
spot.” 


FIRE! 


33 


“ So have I,” returned Frank. “ If the farm 
is what we want we must manage to obtain it.” 

They passed a bend in the road, and a second 
later came in sight of a small cottage painted 
white and set in the midst of a dozen apple trees. 
In front of the cottage was a low white paling, 
with a gate, and a horse-block beside it. On the 
opposite side of the road was what had evidently 
the summer before been a corn field, now well 
plowed up. Back of the cottage, through the 
bare lower limbs of the apple trees, could be seen 
a long, low rambling building covered with glass. 
There were hot-house frames to the left of it, 
and to the right a barn and several sheds. 

“ This is the place,” said Dan, as they came to 
an involuntary halt. “ See, there are the build- 
ings, and here is the brook of running water she 
mentioned. What do you think of the place, 
boys, at a first glance? ” 

“ It’s bang up! ” cried Frank enthusiastically. 
“ The location couldn’t be better.” 

“ It’s a lovely place,” said Archie. “ And how 
neat it has been kept I ” 

“ The house seems to be in first-class shape, 


34 BOUND TO RISE. 

too,” said Dan, as he surveyed it critically. 
“ There are some apple tree limbs resting on the 

roof which ought to be cut off, but otherwise 

My gracious, boys ! what does that mean? ” 

In sudden excitement Dan pointed to the 
kitchen window, from which at that instant a 
thick volume of smoke poured out. A second 
later the front door of the cottage was burst open 
and a German woman rushed out, wringing her 
hands and screaming at the top of her voice : 
“Fire! Help! Fire!” 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT. 

For the minute the three brothers could do lit- 
tle else but stare at the startling spectacle before 
them. There was the very house they had come 
to purchase in damp! It was so totally unex- 
pected that they could scarcely believe the evi- 
dence of their own senses. 

The cries of the German woman, however, soon 
gave them to understand that something must be 
done, and that quickly, if the house was to be 
saved from total destruction. The thick smoke 
continued to pour from the kitchen window, and 
this was followed by a long tongue of flame which 
blackened the clapboards clear up to the roof. 

Crying to his brothers to follow him, Dan 
dashed forward until he confronted the woman, 
who was running about the dooryard, wringing 
her hands and acting altogether as if she had sud- 
denly lost her reason. 

3S 


36 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“What’s on fire in there? How did it 
catch? ” he asked, as he caught her by the arm. 

“ Der fat on der stofe ist burning! ” she wailed. 
“ Put it owit kvick, oder der whole house vill 
bren down 1 ” 

“ The fat on the stove,” repeated Dan to Frank, 
who was close behind him. “ Let us get water.” 

“ Bring us your pails! ” cried Frank. “ Hurry 
up and we may be able to get the fire out.” 

“ Yah ! yah ! put it owit, ladck ! I get pails, all 
I haf!” 

And off to the cowshed the woman ran, and 
soon returned with four large milk-pails, one of 
which was half-full of the lacteal fluid. 

In the meantime Dan found a bucket at the 
.well, which was but a few steps from the kitchen 
door, and filling this he ran into the kitchen and 
dashed the water where the flames appeared to be 
the liveliest. 

By this time Archie had come up. He took 
two of the tin pans from the woman and made off 
for the brook. Full of water the pails were de- 
cidedly heavy for the lame boy, but he managed 
to get them up to the kitchen door, where Dan re- 


THE VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT. 37 

lieved him and doused the water where it would 
do the most good. 

Frank found a large piece of rag carpet close 
to the kitchen door, and, catching it up, soaked it 
in the brook. Entering the kitchen with Dan he 
threw the carpet over the flames back of the stove, 
thus extinguishing a large part of the conflagra- 
tion. 

“Good for you, Frank!” exclaimed Dan. 
“ That did the business. Now a few more 
buckets of water, and we’ll have the fire under 
control.” 

The water was coming, Archie and the German 
woman having both rushed to the brook for if. 
Dan took each pailful and splashed it on all sides. 
Frank, meanwhile, closed the door leading to the 
front room of the cottage, which the woman, in 
her terror, had very imprudently left open. 

Inside of five minutes from the time it had 
started, the fire was out. The entire interior of 
the kitchen had been blackened and the wood- 
work behind the stove burned, but further than 
this no damage had been done. 

Dan and Frank were both begrimed with smoke 


38 


BOUND TO RISE. 


and perspiration, and their collars, cuffs, and 
shirts were sadly soiled. But they did not mind 
this, it was something to have put out the fire and 
in such short order. 

“It’s out,” said Dan, as he stamped out a few 
remaining sparks. “ It was lucky we got at it 
as soon as we did.” 

“We must hunt around in the cracks and make 
sure of our work,” cautioned Frank. “ If we 
don’t, it may burst out again.” 

“ You VOS goot young mens to put owit dot 
fire ! ” cried the woman, as she caught Dan by the 
hand. “ I vos dank all of you very much ! ” 

“ You are welcome,” returned Dan. “ Are 
you Mrs. Burger ? ” 

“ Yah. But I ton’t vos known you? ” with an 
inquiring glance first at one and then at another 
of the trio. 

“ I am Frank Atherton,” replied Frank, step- 
ping forward and doffing his hat. “ These are 
my two brothers Dan and Archie.” 

Mrs. Burger looked at Frank from head to 
foot, and then at the others. She was much 


THE VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT. 39 

taken aback because of Frank’s age. She had 
expected to meet a full-grown man. 

“ And it VOS you wrote to me about mine 
farm ? ” she questioned. “ I dought it vos a 
mans.” 

“ We are not quite men yet, but we hope to be 
some day,” smiled Frank. “ We are tired of life 
in New York and want to try our fortunes in the 
country.” 

But Mrs. Burger couldn’t understand this, and 
it took a deal of talking on the part of all three of 
the boys to enlighten her, and even then she was 
in the dark. But she understood Dan’s remark 
that they would pay cash for the place if it suited 
and shook them each by the hand and bid them 
welcome. 

“ I VOS haf cakes and coffee on der stofe for 
you,” she remarked. “ But it vos all gone now,” 
and she heaved a mountainous sigh. 

“ Never mind it, we can do without,” returned 
Dan. “ We’ll take a wash in the brook and then 
we’ll be ready to talk business.” 

“ All right, I vos git you a towel and soap,’* 






40 BOUND TO RISE. 

said Mrs. Burger, and she ran into the cottage 
again and upstairs. 

It was both refreshing and a pleasure to bathe 
in the cool, flowing water, and all three of the 
boys felt decidedly better for it. The German 
woman stood by, keeping up a running fire of 
questions and exclamations, nearly half of which 
the boys could not understand. 

“ Maybe you vos go drough der house first,” 
she said. “ I guess dot kitchen can been fixed up 
midowit much money, hey? ” 

“ Yes, ten dollars will cover it,” said Archie, 
and then he added, after a shrewd glance from 
Dan: “That is, if there isn’t more damage. done 
than we suppose. Maybe it might cost fifty.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


INSPECTING THE FARM. 

Mrs. Burger led the way into the front room 
of the cottage. This was a pleasant enough 
apartment, with two windows looking out upon 
the road and another facing the apple orchard 
and the open field beyond. 

Between the front room and the kitchen was an 
entryway, and from this the stairs ran to the 
second floor from one side and another stairs led 
down to a tiny cellar on the other. Above were 
three bedrooms, two in front, which were long 
and narrow, and a third in the rear, having a par- 
tially sloping ceiling. All of the rooms had been 
freshly whitewashed and were as clean as it was 
possible to make them. 

“ This suits me,” whispered Frank to Dan, and 
his brother nodded in approval, while Archie’s 
face showed that he, too, was satisfied. 

“ You ton’t VOS found no pugs in dis house,” 


j ' ill 


. ik 


• 41 


42 


BOUND TO RISE. 


said Mrs. Burger, with evident self-pride. “ I 
VOS clean him mineself.” 

“ Tm glad to hear it,” said Frank. “We don’t 
want any bugs.” 

From the house they proceeded to the barn and 
the cowshed. The former was empty, and sev- 
eral holes in the roof showed that it had not been 
repaired for some time. 

“ I haf no use for him since mine husband died 
and I sold der horse,” explained the German 
woman. “ I vos keep a cow and dot vos all.” 

Out in the cowshed, a somewhat shaky struc- 
ture, the cow was found. She was an Alderney, 
still young, and the German woman declared that 
she was a good milker. 

“ You vos haf her, too, of you vont her,” she 
added. “ Of not, I vos sold her to der putcher.” 

“ It’s a shame to slaughter such a nice animal ! ” 
cried Archie. “ See her eyes, how soft and 
brown they are. What do you call her? ” 

“ Mina,” replied Mrs. Burger, and Archie 
patted Mina on the head and made a mental vow 
that if they bought the place she should remain 
as a portion of it. 


INSPECTING THE FARM. 43 

Frank was impatient to inspect the greenhouse, 
and in speaking of it, learned that the former Mr. 
Burger had been a great lover of flowers and had 
spent much spare time in raising them and collect- 
ing choice varieties. 

“ In der house is a pig pox of seeds,” said Mrs. 
Burger. “ Dere vos more as fifty different kinds, 
I dink. I VOS leave dot pox of you vonts 
him.” 

“ Yes, we would want the box by all means,” 
returned Frank quickly. “ Are the seeds 
marked ? ” 

“ I dink so. Ve can see ven ve go pack to der 
house.” 

The greenhouse met with the approbation of all 
three of the boys. It was fully fifty feet long by 
twenty-five wide, with a glass roof that sloped 
both ways. At one end was a big stove for wood 
and also a shed containing a number of empty 
flower pots and an almost unbroken set of florist’s 
tools. Frank picked up the tools one after an- 
other and found them in fairly good condition. 
All the glass in the greenhouse roof was perfect 
“ Der dirt ist of der best,” said Mrs. Burger, 


44 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ Mine husband fixed it up himself. See, how' 
nice and light it vos, and it vos rich, too.” 

From the greenhouse the little party walked 
down to the meadow lot behind the barn, and the 
woman showed where the farm ended, at a clump 
of cherry trees. 

“ Ve vill walk around der farm,” she said. 
“ Den you vill known oxactly how pig it vos,” 
and off the boys started after her, from the cherry 
trees along a stone wall to a straight lane which 
ran past the brook and then up this lane to the 
road. Across this they went and skirted the 
cornfield, and then, re-crossing the road, came 
down along a dense hedge of elderberry bushes, 
past several beds of strawberry plants and a 
potato patch, back to the cherry trees again. 

“Now you vos seen der blace; vot you dinks 
of it?” asked Mrs. Burger, as the little party 
came to a halt, and Archie, all tired out, sank 
down on a tree stump to rest. 

“ It is rather small for a regular farm,” re- 
turned Dan, who did not believe in praising things 
too much. “ But it’s in pretty good shape.” 

“ All but the barn,” put in Archie, taking his 


INSPECTING THE FARM. 45 

cue from his big brother. “ That needs a new 
roof.” 

“ Yah, dot is so,” returned Mrs. Burger. 
“ But if it VOS all new I vos ask more money, 
hey?” and she smiled broadly. 

“ I suppose so,” said Frank, and then he con- 
tinued eagerly : “ What is the lowest cash price 
you will take ? ” 

“ Veil, as I wrote in der letter, I haf asked a 
dousand dollar,” returned Mrs. Burger slowly. 
“How soon you vos dake it?” she questioned 
cautiously. 

“ We will take it to-morrow and pay cash if 
we can come to terms,” put in Dan. But we can- 
not pay a thousand dollars.” 

“ How much you can pay? ” 

Dan called Frank and Archie aside, and then 
began a spirited confab between the three. 

“ I suppose the farm is worth close on to what 
she asks for it,” said Dan. “ But we can’t afford 
to pay so much. We have only seven hundred 
dollars and we ought to keep at least a hundred 
for working capital.” 

“ I don’t think she will sell for six hun- 


4<5 BOUND TO RISE. 

dred,” said Archie. “ Not and throw in the 
cow.” 

“ Then we’ll do without the cow,” said Frank. 
But his younger brother would not listen to this, 
saying the cow would be worth more than her 
price in milk and butter, not to mention how she 
would enrich the soil in the greenhouse and the 
garden. 


CHAPTER IX. 


PETER CASSADY. 

After a long talk among the boys Dan said he 
would make the offer of six hundred and did so. 
This at once started Mrs. Burger off in a streak 
of talking, less than half of which they could 
understand. She would take eight hundred, and 
not a penny less, and would leave the cow and all 
of the tools, and also a barrel of apples, several 
bushels of potatoes, and half a dozen “ sides ” of 
bacon, all of which were stored in the cellar. 

They returned to the cottage, and, sitting down 
in the front room, the matter was talked over until 
dinner time. Dan frankly told just how they 
were situated, and what they proposed to do, and 
Mrs. Burger listened to his story with keen 
interest, nodding her head vigorously all the 
while. 

“ I dink you young mens vill git along,” she 
said. “ But I can’t vos dake six hundred dollar 


47 


48 


BOUND TO RISE. 


— dot VOS robbin’ mineself. I tole you vot I do 
— I let you haf it for seven hundred — and dot vos 
less as I give to ennybody else — but I don’t for- 
got dot you put dot fire out, hey? ” and she smiled 
as broadly as before. 

^ Dan looked at his brothers, wondering what 
they would have him do. Frank whispered to 
Archie and then turned to the older brother. 

“ Give her six hundred and seventy-five dol- 
lars, Dan. That will leave us twenty-five, and 
we’ll manage to get along somehow when we are 
settled here. Perhaps we can raise a little mort- 
gage.” 

This was the last offer made, and Mrs. Burger 
accepted it. To bind the bargain, Dan paid over 
ten dollars, and for this the German woman gave 
her receipt, in which she stated that the property 
was entirely free and clear of all debts and encum- 
brances. It was decided that Dan should meet 
her at the county seat on the following day and 
settle the business, after which Mrs. Burger would 
turn over the keys and get out just as soon as 
possible. 

By the time this stage of the proceedings was 


PETER CASSADY. 


49 


reached all found that they were getting hungry, 
and despite the state of the kitchen, Mrs. Burger 
invited them to remain and have a picked-up din- 
ner with her. They accepted the invitation, and 
while waiting took another look at what they now 
considered their own property. 

“Isn’t it strange!” cried Frank. “I can 
hardly believe that I own an interest in this tree 
and that house and this land I It gives a fellow a 
sort of independent feeling, doesn’t it? ” 

“ It does, indeed,” replied Dan. “ I must say 
I feel as if I had more of a right to live, somehow. 
But I can tell you one thing, Frank — there is lots 
of work ahead, a long hill to climb before we can 
think of taking it easy.” 

“ Oh, I know it, but I don’t care. A fellow 
takes more interest when he’s working for him- 
self and has a positive prospect ahead.” 

“ Yes, I look at it that way, too.” 

“When shall we move down here?” asked 
Archie. 

“ Just as soon as we can — say next Monday or 
Tuesday. There is no use of wasting time, with 
spring so close at hand.” 


BOUND TO RISE. 


SO 

As the boys were approaching the house again, 
a tall, thin-faced man rode up to the gate on a 
bony horse that limped most pitifully. 

“ Well, what do you say, widder? ” he bawled 
out to Mrs. Burger, who came from the kitchen to 
meet him. 

“ Der blace vos sold, Mr. Cassady,” returned 
the German woman. 

“ Sold! ” ejaculated the thin man, his face fall- 
ing, and it was easy to see that he was sorely dis- 
appointed. 

“ Yah. Dese young chentlemans have bought 
it dis morning.” 

Mr. Peter Cassady turned around in his saddle 
and scowled at the three brothers. 

“These boys?” he said, in astonishment. 

“ Yah!” 

“ Humph ! ” The man turned to Dan. 
“ What air you goin’ to do with the farm ? ” 

“ Coming to live on it, sir.” 

“ Got a big family cornin’ ? ” 

“ No, only us three, sir.” 

“ Humph, you don’t tell me ! Where air you 
from?” 


PETER CASS AD Y. 51 

“ We come from New York,” said Frank, with 
a twinkle in his eyes. 

“ City boys — and come to live on a farm ! You 
must be crazy ! ” 

“ I don’t think so,” said Dan. “ Times are 
hard in the city and we thought to try our luck in 
the country. We are going to do our best to get 
along.” 

“ You’ll find times just as hard here and maybe 
harder.” 

“ We are willing to risk it.” 

“ I was goin’ to buy the farm,”- went on Peter 
Cassady. “ I own the one next to it, up the road. 
Maybe I can buy it yet, widder.” He turned to 
Mrs. Burger. “ Have they paid you the price of 
it yet? 


CHAPTER X. 

MOVING FROM THE CITY. 

The faces of the three Atherton brothers 
flushed up when Mr. Peter Cassady turned to 
Mrs. Burger and asked if the purchase price of 
the farm had yet been paid. It was evident to 
them that the tall, thin-faced man would do them 
out of their bargain if such a proceeding were 
possible. 

“ No, der brice has not been baid, but ” be- 

gan Mrs. Burger hesitatingly. 

“ We have paid enough down to bind the bar- 
gain,” interposed Dan. “ I hold Mrs. Burger’s 
receipt,” and he held the paper up. 

Cassady’s face fell and grew more sour than 
ever. He looked inquiringly at the German 
woman. 

“ Yes, dot VOS so,” said Mrs. Burger. “ Da 
say da vill bay der rest so kvick as der court 
babers vos made owit.” 


5 * 


MOVING FROM THE CITY. 53 

“ Did ye git yer price ? ” 

“ We settled it between us,” cried Frank, who 
had taken a sudden and strong dislike to the man 
on the bony horse. 

“ Oh, well, it don’t make no difference ter me,” 
sniffed Mr. Peter Cassady. “ I don’t want to 
pry into anybody’s affairs — least of all a new 
neighbor’s. But three boys, and just from the 
city! It beats me! I reckon the farm will be 
up fer sale ag’in before long.” 

And, slapping his lean animal on the neck with 
his hard hand, he proceeded on his way. 

“ Well, he’s a real agreeable man, I must say,” 
exclaimed Archie sarcastically. “ It’s a pity 
we’re to have him for a neighbor.” 

“ Well, we can’t have everything perfect,” an- 
swered Dan, pleased to think he had struck what 
he considered a bargain and a triumph. “ We 
can leave him alone.” 

“ Dot VOS pest,” put in Mrs. Burger, with a 
wise nod of her head. “ Der less you haf to do 
mid Mr. Cassady der better off you vos — so mine 
huspant used to said.” 

It was late in the evening when the three boys 


54 


BOUND TO RISE. 


returned to New York. Before leaving the 
Spring Hill farm they had had a thorough under- 
standing with Mrs. Burger, and had made out a 
list of just what was wanted on the place. 

“ I’ve got an idea,” said Archie, while they 
were on the ferryboat crossing the North River. 
“We have only twenty-five dollars left, and ten 
or fifteen of that will have to go for moving our 
household goods from the city. What’s the mat- 
ter with selling off some of the things we don’t 
need?” 

“ I’m willing — providing we can get anything 
like fair value,” replied Dan. “ I don’t believe 
in letting things go for a song, though.” 

“ Nor I,” added Frank. “ Let us make out a 
list of goods to sell the first thing in the morning 
and then find out from a number of second-hand 
dealers just what we can realize from them.” 

This suggestion prevailed, and after a scanty 
and hasty breakfast on the following day they set 
to work with pencil and paper. They walked 
through the rooms and inspected the contents of 
the various closets, and jotted down the name of 
everything they thought they could spare. It 


MOVING FkOM THE CITY. 55 

was a sober task, and many a pang went with the 
putting down of some favorite book, picture, or 
other luxury of bygone days. 

Once Frank picked up the painting outfit which 
had belonged to his mother, but a single look 
from Dan and Archie made him drop it again 
without a word. They would not sell that, no 
matter what else had to go. 

The list finished, they sat down and figured out 
how cheaply they would sell the things. Their 
lowest prices footed up to sixty dollars, and then 
Dan and Frank went out to see what they could 
do, while Archie turned once more to his task of 
preparing the midday meal. He had brought a 
small basket of apples away from the Burger 
farm, and no sooner had Frank vanished than he 
rolled up his sleeves and commenced work on his 
brother’s favorite dainty, an apple pie. 

It was after twelve when the older boys came 
back, bringing with them a Jewish second-hand 
dealer. Mr. Isaacstein looked the goods over 
critically, and after much talk took the lot for 
seventy-five dollars spot cash. An hour later his 
truck carted all he had purchased away. 


BOUND TO RISE. 


S6 

“ Now we have a hundred dollars working 
capital, after all,” said Dan, with much satisfac- 
tion, as he dropped into his chair at the 
table. 

“ And Archie has made us an apple pie,” said 
Frank; “so what more can we wish for,” 
and he gave his younger brother a smile of 
thanks. 

The boys sat around the dinner table nearly 
two hours, reviewing the situation and forming 
plans. To “ pull up stakes ” and move was not 
such an easy matter. Besides, when they left the 
city they wanted to be sure that they would not 
have to come back again at once, for the car fare, 
although not large, was still a matter to be con- 
sidered when money was so limited. 

Directly the discussion came to an end Dan 
rushed off to take the train again to New Jersey, 
this time with the purchase money safely stowed 
away in an inside pocket. He met Mrs. Burger 
as appointed, and went to a lawyer she had 
selected, and here the necessary papers were 
drawn up and signed. 

Mrs. Burger agreed to move out two days later 


MOVING PROM THE CITY. 57 

and Dan decided that they should move in at the 
same time. Packing up their effects brought 
busy times to the boys. They had moved but 
twice in their lives; so the experience had much 
of the element of novelty in it. 

Anxious to make friends in the neighborhood 
where they were henceforth to live, Dan hired 
the local cartman of Spring Hill to come to New 
York with his biggest team truck and move them. 
The cartman was John Blody, and from that 
day on became their warm friend, and from time 
to time gave them advice which was exceedingly 
useful to the lads in their new sphere. 

It was a warm, clear when they drove up to 
their own gate, as Frank was particular to ex- 
press it. Dan sat beside the driver, while the 
other two were stowed away on a lounge in the 
rear. Mrs. Burger stood at the horse-block 
awaiting them. The last of her things had just 
gone, and she held all the keys of the place in her 
hand. 

“ Dare you vos,” she said to Dan, handing over 
the keys. And now I vos say goot-by mit vish- 
ing you young mans der pest of luck. Dake goot 


58 


BOUND TO RISE. 


care of Mina and get rich so kvick as you can 
alretty ! ” 

And with a hearty handshake all around she 
left them to settle down in what had formerly 
been her small but comfortable home. 


CHAPTER XL 


SETTLING DOWN TO WORK. 

It was late in the afternoon; so no time was 
lost in unloading the truck, getting out some 
kitchen utensils for supper, and setting up a couple 
of the beds for the night. As soon as this was 
accomplished John Blody received his pay, ten 
dollars, and left- them to themselves. 

“Hurrah!” cried Frank, as the door closed 
after the cartman. “ Here we are at last, ready 
to make our fortunes cultivating flowers. I de- 
clare I feel like a different fellow already.” 

And he began to dance and cut up around the 
kitchen to the great danger of the crockery and 
glassware scattered about. 

“ Here, don’t waste your surplus energy that 
way!” cried practical Dan. “Carry this stuff 
where it is to go. Goodness knows, there is 
enough to do.” 


6o 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ I’m rather tired out,” said Archie, whose 
face was pale from exertion. “ But maybe I can 
stir up some supper ” 

“ Not a bit of it! ” exclaimed Frank. “ You 
just lie down on the lounge and take it easy. I’ll 
put this stuff out of the way and then play cook. 
You’ve done more than you should already.” 

And neither he nor Dan would allow Archie to 
lift a finger further, knowing he could not 
stand it. 

They felt strange, but happy, when they retired 
that night, after caring for the cow and locking 
up carefully all around. It was something to be 
in their own home, “ beat a New York flat all 
hollow,” so Frank declared. 

The next day found them all stiff in every 
joint, Archie especially so, but full of vim and 
enthusiasm. The two older boys tacked down 
the carpets and arranged the furniture, while 
Archie went at the closets. Dan also paid a visit 
to the general store at Spring Hill and bought 
provisions for the ensuing week. The store- 
keeper asked him a good number of questions and 
smiled incredulously when told the new owners of 




















THE YOUNG FLORISTS AT WORK. P, 6l. 


SETTLING DOWN TO WORK. 6l 

the Burger farm were going to raise flowers for 
a living. 

“ It will be uphill work, to my manner of 
thinking,” he said. “ Howsomever, I’ll help you 
the little I can if you say so.” 

On Sunday the boys all dressed in their best 
and attended service at the white chapel. Here 
they made a number of acquaintances, nearly all 
of whom had a pleasant word for them. They 
were given much advice, good, bad, and indiffer- 
ent, but not a one among those who spoke to 
them thought they would succeed in their under- 
taking. 

On Monday they began operations in the green- 
house. While Dan and Frank prepared the soil 
to receive the seeds and cuttings and looked after 
the wood stove to be used if the weather turned 
off cold, Archie went over the seeds brought 
along and the big box full left by the late Mr. 
Burger. The box proved a perfect bonanza, but 
how much of a one the boys did not then realize. 

Two weeks of hard work sufficed to see the 
greenhouse in perfect shape. Dan and Frank 
had prepared twenty-four long shallow boxes 


62 


BOUND TO RISE. 


with the very best soil the place afforded, and into 
these all three had planted sixteen varieties of 
flowers and plants. It was too late in the season 
to put out many seeds, that was, for mercantile 
purposes, and the others they determined to keep 
until they could be put outdoors merely for show 
and for seed, and perhaps for cut flowers. 

Yet they had several varieties of verbenas, 
carnations, mimulus, petunias, sweet peas, and 
other well-known flowers, as well as beds of 
heliotrope, coleus, cannas, alyssum, oxalis, 
smilax, and the like. Of roses they had brought 
along ten choice cuttings, and from the Burger 
stock got several dozen more, while out in the 
garden were more roses and a great number of 
hardy annuals, some run wild, but all of which 
would be of more or less use to them. 

Dan remembered how his father had planted 
and cared for many of the seeds, bulbs, and cut- 
tings, but in many cases they had to rely on the 
several books on floriculture which they had pur- 
chased and which each of them studied diligently 
every evening. The work was a novelty to them 
and each day passed all too soon. 


SETTLING DOWN TO WORK. 63 

The weather remained mild for three weeks 
and then turned off so cold that a constant wood 
fire had to be kept up in the greenhouse. Frank, 
whose duty it was to see that the fire did not go 
out or burn up too hot, was inclined to grumble, 
but Dan soon quieted him. 

“ Why, cold weather is just the best thing for 
‘us,” he declared. “ It will give us a chance to 
get our plants on the market before the gardens 
are opened. You must remember that we are a 
month or so behind the average florists. I think 
Nature is very kind to assist us.” 

And then Frank grumbled no more. 

Besides the flowers, the boys set out a large 
number of tomato plants in hot-bed frames, even 
going to the trouble and expense of adding to the 
frames already located down back of the barn. 
They did this because the storekeeper had prom- 
ised to find them a market for all the good tomato 
plants they could turn out in boxes by the first of 
May. 

Archie and Mina the cow had struck up a great 
friendship, and the lame lad took entire care of 
the animal. Not only this, he milked her, and 


64 


BOUND TO RISE. 


twice a week made the daintiest pat of butter ever 
seen. At first the work rather tired him, but in 
the end it was beneficial, and slowly but surely 
the ruddy glow of health began to come back to 
his wan cheeks. 

When the greenhouse and the hot-beds were in 
perfect shape the boys turned their attention to 
the barn and the cow-shed. Nothing could yet 
be done in the garden, and Dan reasoned that to 
waste time would be foolish. Some nails, 
boards, and shingles were procured, and Dan and 
Frank turned carpenters in earnest, with Archie 
to assist as much as he was able. Working thus, 
it was not long before everything but the land 
was in prime order. 


CHAPTER XII. 


HARD TIMES. 

At last it grew warmer once more, and from 
some of the neighbors living about the boys were 
convinced that the frost was fast leaving the 
ground, not to return until fall. They made ar- 
rangements with a man who owned a horse and 
plow to turn over two acres for them, and, this 
done, set to work with renewed vigor to prepare 
the ground for various vegetables, for they had 
determined that hereafter they would themselves 
raise everything used on the table in that line. 

“ I wish we had some chickens,” said Archie. 

I would dearly love to go out and gather the 
eggs.” 

“ We are hardly fixed to keep chickens,” replied 
Dan. “ We will have to have a run for them, or 
they’ll be in the garden all of the time. Perhaps 
in another year, if we have luck, we’ll get a few 
settings.” 

“ And some turkeys,” put in Frank. “We 


66 


BOUND TO RISE. 


want them for Thanksgiving and the other holi- 
days.” 

“ Oh, yes, if we have chickens we must have 
turkeys too, and a few pigeons,” said Archie. 

The two acres plowed up, the three boys found 
plenty of work hoeing it and cleaning up 
generally. Then came the all-important ques- 
tion of just what to plant and how much of each. 
They had peas, beans, radishes, cauliflower, beets, 
corn, onions, cabbage, and a dozen additional 
vegetables, as well as pumpkins, squashes, celery, 
and other things which to them might be con- 
sidered relishes. Two whole evenings were de- 
voted to staking off the two acres on paper, and 
then Dan called in a friendly neighbor to ask his 
advice. The neighbor suggested several changes 
owing to the rise and fall of the land, and, these 
made, the boys set to work to plant. 

In the meantime, however, they had to live, 
and it alarmed them somewhat to see their capital 
steadily diminish, while not a single cent was 
coming in. What to do should they run out of 
money ere they realized on their flowers now be- 
came a serious question. 


HARD TIMES. 


67 


“ We might take up a little mortgage,” sug- 
gested Dan. “ Or maybe somebody will take 
our note for three or six months.” 

“ Oh, I hate to borrow ! ” cried Frank. “ This 
wouldn’t seem so much like our own home.” 

“ That’s just it,” added Archie. “ Let’s econo- 
mize.” 

But to economize further was out of the ques- 
tion. They were already living on next to noth- 
ing so far as boughten groceries were concerned. 
Had it not been for the vegetables and “ sides ” 
of bacon and the like left by Mrs. Burger it might 
harve fared.badly with them. 

“ Well, if it comes to the worst, we’ll live on 
just potatoes, as they do in some parts of Ire- 
land,” laughed Dan, and there the subject 
dropped. But they all wondered how matters 
were going to turn. 

So far they had managed to avoid trouble with 
Peter Cassady, although Dan had had one warm 
discussion with him regarding the snake fence 
which divided the two farms. Cassady, shortly 
after the boys had purchased the place, had at- 
tempted to shift the fence some ten feet over on 


68 


BOUND TO JtlSE. 


their side. Dan had resisted, stating Mrs. Burger 
had assured him she had had the line surveyed, 
and it was right. The talk had grown very 
warm, but a happy interruption had called Cas- 
saday to his house before matters took a serious 
turn. Since then the fence had been left alone. 

“ We must watch him, though,” said Dan. 
“ He means to get the best of us — I can see it in 
his face.” 

The garden planted, the boys turned again to 
the greenhouse, where hundreds of tiny plants 
were struggling to shove their tops through the 
light soil into the outer world. All were much 
elated to see that every box of seed had taken hold 
and was apparently growing well. 

“ Who says we are not full-fledged florists ! ” 
cried Frank proudly. 

“Hardly yet,” smiled Dan. “Wait till it 
comes to potting the plants and keeping them free 
of insects and worms. It is likely we will lose a 
large percentage of them unless we are extra 
careful.” 

“ Speaking of pots — we have still to buy 
them,” put in Archie. “That’s another expense.” 


ITAJID TIMES. 


, 69 


I know it.” Dan gave a sigh. “ I don’t see 
what we are going to do, excepting to take a 
mortgage or give a note.” 

On the day following the three boys were down 
back of the barn, looking at the tomato plants in 
the hot-bed frames, when, chancing to glance into 
one of the fields, Frank gave a yell of alarm. 

Look at old Cassady’s bull ! ” he cried. 
“ He’s in our patch of peas and beans, and he’s 
kicking everything up ! ” 

Frank was right in the main. There was the 
bull, an old and savage fellow, running around 
and snorting and making the soil, with the plant- 
ings, fly in every direction. 

“ Wait till I chase him out ! ” cried Dan, and 
started off on a run. 

“ Look out, he may horn you ! ” exclaimed 
Archie, in terror. “ Mr. Brown said Cassady’s 
bull was the worst he had ever seen ! ” 

But Dan paid no heed. He was bent on sav- 
ing the garden from further destruction. Pick- 
ing up a heavy stick from the wood-pile by the 
barn, he ran on and leaped the fence of the field 
the bull had entered. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE BOYS AND THE BULL. 

Dan did not think of the peril he was facing 
when he made after the vicious bull, but Frank 
and Archie did, and both called loudly for him 
to come back. 

“ The bull will turn on him sure ! ” gasped 
Frank. “Come back, Dan; come back!” 

“ Maybe I had better run to the house and get 
the gun,” said Archie. “ He ought to be shot if 
he tries to molest Dan.” 

“ Yes, get the gun, and I’ll do what I can to 
draw his attention away from Dan,” returned 
Frank. 

With his heart beating wildly, Archie set off 
for the cottage as fast as his lame limb would per- 
mit. The shotgun stood behind the kitchen door, 
already loaded for vicious tramps or thieving 
crows, and all out of breath he caught it up and 
started back to the field. 

In the meantime Dan had come up to within 


70 


THE BOYS AND THE BULL. 7 1 

fifty feet of the bull without being noticed. Now 
he waved his club and shouted at the beast. 

“ Hi ! hi ! get out of here ! Gee ! haw ! get 
out ! ” 

The bull stopped his dancing up and down and 
his kicking and turned swiftly. Dan saw that 
his eyes were full of rage. Evidently he had 
broken away from Peter Cassady when the irri- 
table farmer was ill-treating him. He gave a 
vicious snort, lowered his horns, and dashed full- 
tilt toward Dan. 

For one brief instant Dan thought to stand his 
ground, then, as the bull drew nearer he leaped 
to one side, and as the animal blundered past lie 
hit the beast full on the neck with his stick. 

The bull bellowed with rage more than with 
pain, and again turned upon Dan, who once more 
leaped aside and then ran for the fence, satisfied 
that to tackle the brute with nothing but a stick 
was foolhardy. 

“ Get the gun ! ” he shouted. 

“ I’ve got it ! ” sang out Archie, as he met 
Dan at the fence, with the bull scarcely a score of 
feet behind the older youth. 


BOUND TO RISE. 


7i 

Dan was good at jumping, but now his haste 
made him miscalculate the distance, and instead 
of vaulting over he went sprawling down in front 
of the fence. The tumble surprised even the bull, 
but not for long. Realizing his opportunity he 
lowered his horns once again and dashed for- 
ward. 

Bang! 

Never afterward could Archie explain how he 
brought the gun into position and fired that shot. 
It was truly a miraculous piece of work, for he 
had hardly time to think, much less to act. But 
the gun was pointed and discharged, and the bull 
stopped short, and staggered back, his head and 
neck having received fully half of the charg;-e of 
bird shot. 

Scarcely had the gun gone off, and while the 
bull still wavered, Frank, beside Archie, dropped 
on his knees and reached for Dan, already on the 
scramble. A scrape and a hard pull, and Dan 
came through the lower rails of the fence and 
rolled out of harm’s way. 

“ Look a-here, don’t shoot my bull ! ” roared a 
voice from the road, and Mr. Peter Cassady ran 


THE BOYS AND THE BULL. 73 

into the garden, a gad in one hand and a long 
strap in the other. 

“ You get your bull out of our garden,” re- 
torted Frank. “ He almost killed my brother.” 

“ That’s because you don’t know how ter treat 
him. City chaps aint got no sense, nohow.” 

“ You’ll get him out and you’ll pay for the 
damage done here,” put in Dan, as he arose to his 
feet and began to brush his clothing. “ You 
ought to know better than to let him come over 
here.” 

“ And you ought ter know better’n to shoot at 
him. If he dies you’ll foot the bill, mark my 
word,” growled Peter Cassady, as he leaped into 
the field. 

The bull had retreated, evidently thinking him- 
self no match for Archie’s weapon. Peter Cas- 
sady advanced upon him fearlessly and prodded 
him with the gad most viciously. The beast 
stood his ground for a moment, then ambled to- 
wards the gateway, moaning from pain as he 
went. Once in the road he started for home, and 
bull and owner disappeared around the bend 
together. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SERIOUS THREATS. 

“ Are you hurt, Dan ? ” was Archie’s first 
question. The younger brother was very pale, 
and was trembling from head to foot. 

“ No, thanks to you, Archie. That was a 
famous shot — it couldn’t have been better.” 

“ Dan is right,” put in Frank. “ It was a good 
thing you got the gun.” 

I wonder if the bull will — will die? ” faltered 
Archie. He hated to think he had shed, even a 
small portion of the animal’s blood. 

“ Don’t fear — bulls are too tough for that,” 
laughed Dan. “ It would take a good man)r 
doses of bird shot to finish him.” 

“ I wonder what Cassady will do ? ” 

“ I know what he ought to do — come back here 
and fix our garden up,” grumbled Frank. “ Just 
look at those patches of peas, beans, and lettuce! ” 

“Yes; it’s worse than if it had never been 


74 


SERIOUS THREATS. 


75 


sown/’ returned Dan; “for the seed is so scat- 
tered it will be all mixed when it grows up. We 
will have to dig the ground up and plant it anew.” 

But at present they felt too excited to do any- 
thing but talk, and, leaving the garden patch as it 
was, they walked to the house, there to remain 
• until after dinner. While resting, Mr. Umbert, 
a neighbor, came along, and they spoke of the 
matter to him. 

“ You can have Cassady up before the squire 
for it,” said the neighbor. “ He has no right to 
leave that bull loose, and he’s responsible for all 
damage done.” 

“ I don’t want to quarrel with him,” said Dan. 
“ If he was a fair-minded man he would come 
back of his own accord and offer to settle.” 

As it was getting late in the season no time 
must be lost in replanting, so directly after the 
midday meal they set to work. They were hard 
at work when Peter Cassady strode up. 

“ My bull is most likely goin’ ter lose the sight 
of one eye,” he growled. “ Who’s to pay for 
that?” 

“ See here, Mr. Cassady,” replied Dan, as he 


76 


BOUND TO RISE. 


faced the mean farmer sternly : “ it’s your fault 
that the bull came over here — not ours; and you 
needn’t expect anything from us. On the con- 
trary, you ought to pay for the damage done here. 
I believe I could make you pay if I went before 
Squire Hallowel.” 

“Ha! so ye threaten me with the law, eh?” 
roared the farmer. “ You’re a fine lot from the 
slums of the city, I must say. Maybe ye had to 
git out I ” he went on insinuatingly. “ I’ve often 
heard as how city folks wasn’t no hands to pay 
their store bills an’ the like I ” 

“ You shan’t come here and insult us, Mr. Cas- 
sady ! ” cried Dan, turning first red and then 
white. “ I want you to leave our place, and if 
you bother us any more I’ll bring suit before the 
squire.” 

A wordy war followed, but neither Dan nor his 
brothers would back down, and muttering dire 
threats against them Peter Cassady strode off, 
and that was the last they saw of him for some 
time. 

It took three days to get the garden into trim 
once more. In the meantime they heard through 


SERIOUS THREATS. 


77 


Mr. Umbert that the bull was not seriously in- 
jured, but that Cassady was “ mad clean 
through ” at them. 

“If only he would sell out and go away!” 
sighed Archie. “ I would like another neighbor 
like Mr. Umbert.” 

“ But he won’t sell out, so we must make the 
best of it,” replied Dan. “ Perhaps after he 
learns we can stick up for our rights he will let 
us alone.” 

It was not long after this that they found it 
time to commence transplanting some of the 
greenhouse stuff into pots. The petunias, single 
and double, were already far advanced, and a 
dozen other varieties were not far behind. The 
greenhouse no longer showed long rows of bare 
dirt boxes — everywhere was green, growing 
darker each day. 

“ Well, the pots have got to come,” said Dan. 
“ I’m going to hunt around the neighborhood and 
see what I can pick up second-hand.” 

Dan’s hunt was more successful than he had 
hoped for. Through the keeper of the general 
store at which they traded he had heard of a 


78 


BOUND TO RISE. 


farmer who had over two thousand pots to sell, 
of all sizes, the remnant of an investment in flori- 
culture which had proved a failure. The farmer 
had promised to let them have the pots for half 
their regular cost, providing they would cart them 
away themselves, and had agreed to let Frank 
work out the amount on his farm during haying 
time that summer at a dollar and a quarter a day. 
So there was no cash to be laid out, and two thou- 
sand pots would suffice them, at least for the 
start. 


CHAPTER XV. 



POTTING THE PLANTS. 

Two thousand pots, the boys soon discovered, 
made a good many wheelbarrow loads, and Dan 
and Frank worked steadily for three days bring- 
ing the Jays to the greenhouse. As soon as the 
first., bad arrived Archie set to work potting the 
ter.aer plants, which as yet had not more than 
three or four leaves each. 

“ Hard work, sure enough,” laughed Dan when 
he caught Frank rubbing his stiff back. “ But 
one of these days we’ll be rich enough to afford a 
horse and wagon.” 

“ That time can’t come any too soon, Dan. 
How about getting the potted plants to market? ” 

“ Oh, we’ll have to hire John Blody for that.” 

When the potting was finished — that is, as far 
as they could go for the present — the three boys 
surveyed their work with great satisfaction. 
They walked around the greenhouse several 

79 


8o 


BOUND TO RISE. 


times, counting up what they had, and trying to 
figure up mentally what their first venture at 
flower raising would net them. 

“ Don’t hope for too much this year,” said Dan 
warningly. “ If we pull through v/ithout a loss 
we’ll be lucky. You must remember we suffer 
for last fall’s bulbs. Our pinks, for instance, 
won’t amount to anything this season.” 

Frank, who was down in the corne^- of the 
greenhouse examining a box Archie h. d not 
touched, called the others to him. 

“ What is this stuff ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know,” declared Dan, looking at the 
tiny specks of green pushing through the light 
dirt. “ What are they, Archie? ” 

“ I’m as much in the dark as any of you,” was 
the younger brother’s reply. “ I got the seed out 
of Mr. Burger’s box. He had it done up in a 
little wooden pill box, and the name on the box 
was in German. I was curious to know what the 
seed was, so I planted it.” 

“ It’s growing all right,” said Dan. “ In an- 
other week you can pot the plants.” 

“ I’ll see what it is first. Maybe it won’t be 


POTTING THE PLANTS. 8l 

worth potting,” returned Archie. Had he recog- 
nized the tiny plants in the box he would have 
guarded them with more jealous care than aught 
else in the greenhouse. 

The spring was now fairly upon them. The 
trees around the cottage were budding forth, the 
bushes were even further advanced. Song birds 
were coming back rapidly from their sojourn 
southward. 

“ Now to make some kind of a deal to sell our 
flowers,” said practical Dan. “ I wonder if the 
New York market is best? ” 

“ I would try that florist I know first,” said 
Frank. “ He told me he would do as well as he 
could by us, when I told him we were coming out 
here.” 

“ Well, we’ll go and see him, and the rest at 
the same time, Frank. Archie, I am afraid you 
will have to remain at home.” 

“ Never mind, so long as you make a good deal 
with somebody,” was the younger brother’s reply. 
“ You had better ask about cut flowers, too, for I 
think we are going to have quite a few from Mr. 
Burger’s old bushes.” 


83 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ Of course; and I’ll make arrangements for 
shipping goods, too,” concluded Dan. 

Dressed in their best, with several samples set 
in long baskets, Dan and Frank departed for New 
York on the first morning train. An hour and a 
half later found them in the establishment of 
Randolph Dowling, the florist Frank knew. 

“ So you really have grown some flowers ! ” 
cried Mr. Dowling good-naturedly. He weighed 
over two hundred, and was in the best of health, 
so he could afford to be jovial. ” Is this all? ” 
and he pointed to the two baskets. 

“ These are our samples, Mr. Dowling,” re- 
joined Frank, so seriously that the florist at once 
dropped his banter. “ They represent the first 
year’s effort.” 

“ Well, it might be a worse collection, my boy,” 
with a keen, businesslike glance at the stock repre- 
sented. “ You have grown the things which are 
salable this year, at any rate. Now tell me just 
what you have got.” 

An hour devoted to strict business followed. 
One after another the plants were inspected, and 
from a slip Dan had written out he told how many 


POTTING THE PLANTS. 83 

they liad of each and in what condition they 
were. 

“ Here is something I can’t place,” said Dan, 
bringing forth one of the plants grown from the 
seed in the pill box. “ We have something like 
fifty of them.” 

Mr. Dowling turned the plant around critically 
and examined its tiny leaves. 

“ It is a heliotrope, I believe,” he said slowly. 
“ But I cannot place it further. Certainly it is 
not a Lemoine or Queen of Night or Celestra, but 
I imagine it will prove valuable. Leave this 
sample with me, will you? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Dan. “ I hope they will 
prove valuable — I mean more so than ordinary 
heliotropes.” 

They now got down to prices on the various 
plants. It seemed to both boys that Mr. Dow- 
ling was very fair, yet the sum total was hardly 
what they had expected. 

“ Perhaps you may do better elsewhere,” smiled 
the florist. “ I would rather have you get rates 
— you will be better satisfied.” 


CHAPTER XVL 


THE FIRST SALE. 

The boys did go elsewhere — visiting so many 
establishments that they were nearly ready to 
drop with fatigue from carrying the heavy 
baskets. In some places they received but scant 
attention, and at none were the terms offered quite 
as good as Mr. Dowling’s. 

“ We had better take him up,” said Dan, “ and 
make arrangements for him to handle our cut 
flowers, too.” 

So they went back, and the deal was quickly 
closed. Mr. Dowling said he would send word 
when they were to start shipments, and just how 
many pots of each were to be shipped from time 
to time. 

“ I have been buying from another man in New 
Jersey,” he added; “ but he has gone into the store 
business on his own account, so if you boys attend 


THE FIRST SALE. 85 

to business we may be able to make contracts for 
the future.” 

These were the florist’s final words to them, 
and they talked the matter over on the train and 
when they got home. The prices obtained were 
a bit disappointing, but they felt better now they 
knew exactly what was to become of the stock 
they were raising. 

Archie was much interested to learn the un- 
known plants might turn out a new variety of 
heliotrope, and at once set to work to pot all the 
plants with care. Extra pots were also procured, 
and when the flower trade opened in earnest the 
young florists had nearly three thousand plants 
ready for market. 

It was an event to them when John Blody drove 
up to the horse block and took away the first 
wagonful of plants. As the load moved off 
Frank flung his cap in the air. 

“ Hurrah ! ” he cried. “ Thirty-two dollars’ 
worth of plants for a starter! We’re in business 
now for certain I ” 

“ That’s so,” said Archie. “ Pity we haven’t 
a hundred such loads to ship.” 


86 


BOUND TO RISE, 


“ You wouldn’t want to glut the market, would 
you, Archie ? ” laughed Dan. 

“ I’d run the risk, Dan.” 

They felt in high spirits, and work that day was 
more like play. It was something to think there 
was money coming in. 

Although giving most of their attention to the 
flowers, the three lads did not neglect the garden, 
knowing that that must furnish them with most 
of their food for the year around. 

To protect themselves from possible flower 
thieves they obtained from Mr. Umbert a small 
dog. The animal was still young, but knew 
enough to bark whenever a stranger set foot 
in the garden, and this was just what they 
wanted. 

One night, after an unusually hard day’s work, 
the three brothers retired early, leaving Carlo, the 
dog, tied up outside of the kitchen door, where 
Frank had built him a comfortable house. But 
a very few minutes saw the boys to dreamland, 
and thus they slumbered for several hours. 

At the end of that time they awoke with a start. 
A crash of glass followed by a shrill bark from 


THE FIRST SALE. 87 

Carlo had awakened them. One after another 
they sprang out upon the floor. 

“What's that?” demanded Frank, as he ran 
to a window. “ Flower thieves in the green- 
house, as sure as you are born ! ” 

“ Fll teach them a , lesson ! ” ejaculated Dan, 
as he slipped on some clothing, while his brothers 
followed suit. 

In less than a minute all three were piling down 
the stairs. Dan caught up the gun, and Frank 
and Archie armed themselves with sticks standing 
ready for just such an emergency. The kitchen 
door was thrown open and they rushed out in a 
bunch. 

In the dim light they could see two figures, one 
near the greenhouse and the second sneaking off 
towards the barn. As quick as a flash Dan ran 
after the latter. 

“ Stop, or Fll shoot you ! ” he called out. 

“ Don’t — please don’t ! ” came in fearful ac- 
cents from the fleeing person, as he came to a halt. 
“ It’s only me — Sam Cassady ! ” 

Dan was dumfounded. The speaker was Peter 
Cassady’s oldest son, the village’s ne’er-do-well. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


MIDNIGHT VISITORS. 

“ Sam Cassady ! ” murmured Dan. 

“Si Cassady!” shouted Frank and Archie 
simultaneously. “ What are you fellows doing 
over here? ” 

Si Cassady, the ne’er-do-well’s younger brother, 
looked sheepish and then began to blubber. 

“ Don’t lock us up, Dan Atherton,” he wailed. 
“ It aint my fault. Sam planned the whole thing 
— just to git square on dad’s account.” 

“ Planned what whole thing? ” demanded Dan, 
and then before anybody could speak he went on : 
“ Come up to the kitchen, all of you, and, Archie, 
strike a light, so we can see what we’re doing.” 

Most unwillingly the two Cassady boys shuffled 
across the dooryard. The older showed a dispo- 
sition to run away, but Dan seized him by the arm 
with a grip that several months of hard work had 
greatly strengthened. 


MIDNIGHT VISITORS. 


89 


The lamp lit, the Cassady boys were compelled 
to go inside, and Frank shut the door. Thinking 
himself now a prisoner beyond all doubts Si Cas- 
sady began to fairly bawl, at which his brother 
became so incensed that he cuffed the frightened 
lad savagely over the ears. 

“ Yer aint hurt yet! Shet up; they can’t do 
nuthin’ to us ! ” 

“ That remains to be seen, Sam Cassady,” said 
Dan warmly. “ What were you up to — out 
with it? ” 

“ Wasn’t doin’ nuthin’,” was the sullen re- 
sponse. “ And yer aint got no right to hold us 
here, neither.” 

” I reckon we can hold you here until we notify 
the constable,” put in Frank significantly. 

“ Oh I don’t do that, please don’t ! ” wailed Si 
Cassady. “ We only broke a few glasses and 
some pots, and dad ’ll pay for ’em — I know he 
will.” 

“ So you came over to break the greenhouse 
glass and smash our flowers, eh ? ” cried Archie. 
“ You are a couple of bad ones and no mis- 
take.” 


90 


BOUND TO RISE. 


“ It was Sam’s plan. He’s been wantin’ to do 
it ever since you shot dad’s bull.” 

“ But I only shot the bull to save my brother 
from being horned. Besides, he was tearing up 
the whole field.” 

“ Dad said yer did it out of spite,” put in Sam 
Cassady. “ He says you are tryin’ to show off 
and git ahead of him.” 

“ That is not so. We came out here to grow 
flowers and make a living. We don’t want to get 
ahead of anyone in particular, and we wish very 
much to be good friends with all of our neigh- 
bors.” Dan began to warm up. “ See here, 
Sam Cassady, why can’t you people be agreeable ? 
We might get along splendidly — in fact, I know 
we would.” 

A sneer arose to Sam Cassady’s lips. “ You’re 
foolin’ now — tryin’ ter play a trick on us,” he 
growled. 

“ Indeed Dan is not,” said Frank. “ He has 
often said he wished we could be friends instead 
of enemies — and I wish the same, and so does 
Archie. It’s worse than foolish to be on the outs; 
there is nothing to be gained.” 


MIDNIGHT VISITORS. 


91 


The sneer began to leave the face of the ne’er- 
do-well. “ What about our work to-night ? ” he 
asked cautiously. 

“ Well, you ought ” Dan stopped short 

and looked at his brothers. “ What do you 
say ? ” he asked. 

Frank and Archie exchanged glances, then 
they motioned Dan aside. There was a whis- 
pered conversation which lasted about a minute. 

“We have decided to let you go,” said Dan. 
“ But you must agree to repair the damage done 
and promise not to play any more tricks on us.” 

“You won’t report us to the village folks?” 
asked Sam Cassady eagerly. 

“ No; we won’t say a word about it.” 

The faces of the two Cassady boys were studies 
for a moment. At first suspicious, they gradually 
grew sheepish and full of a certain sense of 
shame. 

“ You’re better fellers than I thought yer was,” 
said Sam Cassady in a low tone. “ Me and Si 
will mend the greenhouse and bring yer new pots 
fer the ones we broke, and yer needn’t be afraid 
of us no more, neither.” 


$2 


BOUND TO RtSE. 


A few minutes later the strange interview came 
to an end, and with a good-night that was almost 
friendly the two Cassady boys left the cottage 
and stole home through the darkness. 

The adventure and the generous manner in 
which the three boys acted were productive of 
much good. As they afterward learned, the ab- 
sence of Sam and Si from home had been discov- 
ered by their parents, and when they returned 
sharp questioning compelled the lads to make a 
full confession of their misdeeds. Mr. Peter 
Cassady and his wife were much worried over 
what Dan and his brothers might do, scarcely be- 
lieving they would let the matter rest as it stood. 
When they finally did see that the three Athertons 
meant to stick to their promise a better feeling 
prevailed all around, and from that time on the 
whole Cassady family were gradually won over 
until they became the best of neighbors. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


ENCOURAGING NEWS. 

Spring was now so far advanced that it might 
well be said summer was at hand. The green- 
house was empty, with the exception of a few 
plants which they wished to hasten in their 
growth. Everything was up in the garden, and 
the berry bushes were loaded down with their 
green fruit. 

The first load of plants for Mr. Dowling had 
been followed by five others, and up to date the 
young florists had disposed of a hundred and 
twenty dollars’ worth of their wares. Ten or 
twenty dollars’ worth still remained, and then all 
they would have to depend upon would be the cut 
flowers. The tomato plants had brought them 
in twenty-two dollars’ worth of groceries at the 
general store. 

Of course the hundred and twenty dollars was 
not clean profit. The pots had still to be worked 


93 


94 


BOUND TO RISE. 


for, and they had bought glass for the green- 
house, and also fertilizer, as well as tobacco ex- 
tract, fir-tree oil, and several other preparations 
with which to free their plants of bugs and in- 
sects. 

“ I’ve figured it out,” said Dan one night. 
“ We’ll come out about eighty dollars ahead on 
the plants, and 'I imagine the cut flowers and other 
things will bring the total up to about a hundred 
and fifty dollars. I don’t think that’s so bad for 
a first year.” 

“ Especially as we have all of our garden truck 
free,” replied Archie. “ We’ll pull through, 
won’t we ? ” 

“We will unless we have some extra expense 
coming unexpectedly, Archie. Of course, the 
flowers are not cut yet.” 

“ We need clothing,” put in Frank dubiously. 
“ Farm work just wears ’em right out.” 

“ Yes, we need clothing and boots too,” an- 
swered Dan. “ But we’ll have to wait for them. 
We don’t want to run into debt, now we have kept 
above water so long.” 

The three brothers realized that, even though 


ENCOURAGING NEWS. 


95 


their plants had turned out so well, they would 
have to economize “ to the last notch,” as Archie 
expressed it. New clothing was not to be 
thought of, and their boots would have to be sent 
to the village cobbler to be mended for a second 
time. 

Life in the country had done wonders for 
Archie. His lameness was about gone and he 
was twenty pounds heavier. Dan, too, was no 
longer pale and thin, and Frank’s appetite, always 
good, was simply tremendous. 

A week of unusually warm weather in June 
ended late one afternoon in violent gusts of wind 
and a dense blackness of clouds in the western 
sky. Just at sunset the low rumble of far-off 
thunder reached their ears. 

“ We’re going to have a thunder storm — the 
first of the season,” said Dan. “ Get everything 
under cover you want to keep dry.” 

There was not much to get in, and this was a 
lucky thing, for the rain began to fall in a very 
few minutes. Then the clouds rolled swiftly 
overhead, and the lightning flashed brighter and 
brighter. 


96 


BOUND TO RISE. 


Sitting in the kitchen the boys watched the on- 
coming of the storm. Archie had supper ready, 
but they felt in no humor to eat — a strange appre- 
hension having seized all of them. 

“ My, but it’s going to be a corker ! ” mur- 
mured Frank, as the rain drove against the win- 
dow pane in a perfect sheet. “ The garden will 
be pretty well washed out.” 

“ I don’t like that lightning,” said Archie, with 
a slight shiver. “ I wish those apple trees were 
further from the house. They say trees draw the 
lightning.” 

“ Not more so than anything else that’s wood,” 
said Dan. 

“ I wonder how Mina takes the storm,” said 
Archie, thinking of his old favorite in the 
barn. “ I’m glad I drove her in before it 
started.” 

“ Oh, cows are used to storms,” rejoined 
Frank. “ They don’t mind them ” 

While Frank was still speaking a broad sheet 
of lightning filled the kitchen, dazing them and 
causing them to fall back in a heap. A grinding 
and splitting crash of thunder came with the flash, 


ENCOURAGING NEWS. i)7 

and the boys smelt a faint odor of sulphur in the 
air. 

Crash ! went one of the apple trees outside, and 
then they heard its top fall upon the shingle roof 
and break through into the garret. 

“ The house is struck ! ” gasped Archie. “ Oh, 
Dan!” 

“ Is anybody hurt ? ” demanded the older 
brother. “Frank, are you all right?” For 
Frank had been nearest to the window. 

“ Yes. But the house — can it be on fire? ” 

“ ril look ! ” shouted Dan, and ran for the stair- 
way, with his two brothers at his heels. 

There was no need to climb up the ladder into 
the gabled garret, a small place they had not at- 
tempted to utilize. The top of the apple tree had 
broken clear through the plaster into one of the 
front bedrooms, and now stuck out, crushed and 
blackened, in bold relief against the whitewashed 
wall. Through the jagged hole the rain was 
already pouring. 

Satisfied there was no danger of fire and some- 
what recovered from their first shock, the boys lit 
a lantern, it being impossible to keep a lamp lit in 


98 


BOUND TO RISE. 


the draught. Then Archie dashed downstairs to 
obtain a large tin basin, in which to catch the 
falling water, that it might not do further 
damage. 

“ This is the worst yet,” said Dan soberly. “ I 
suppose I ought to get up and try to mend the 
roof.” 

“ Don’t go in this storm ! ” pleaded Archie. 
“ The water is all coming down in one spot, and 
we can catch it easily enough.” 

“ That was a close shave ! ” cried Frank. “ My 
gracious! I thought the end of the world had 
come.” 

They stood around silently after this, hardly 
knowing what to do. The storm was moving ofif, 
and presently the thunder and lightning almost 
ceased. By ten o’clock the rain began to slack 
up, and an hour later it stopped altogether and the 
stars came out. 

The three boys did not sleep a wink during the 
night, and at the first sign of daylight they went 
outside to inspect the damage done. They found 
that the largest of the apple trees had been cut off 
twenty feet from the ground, and the top portion 


ENCOURAGING NEWS. 


99 


hung horizontally from the branches below and 
the roof of the house. 

“ We’ll have some work chopping that down,” 
said Frank. “ We’ll have to rig up a block and 
tackle to lower it, or it may smash some more of 
the house.” 

“ I reckon we can manage the log,” said Dan. 
“ What worries me is that hole in the roof. It 
will cost us twenty or thirty dollars, and perhaps 
more, to put things in shape again.” 

This remark made them feel gloomy. It had 
been such a close struggle they did not see how 
they could stand the extra expense. They saw 
that they could not do the work themselves; that 
it would require the services of one or two regular 
carpenters. 

“It’s too bad, that’s just what it is!” cried 
Archie, and the others echoed the sentiment. 

“ There is no use to cry; we must make the 
best of it,” said Dan bravely. “ I’ll go down to 
the village and see Jacob Voss the carpenter.” 

And after a hasty breakfast he set out, hoping 
to have the work done before another storm came 
along. He found the village carpenter and a con- 
L#C. 


lOO 


BOUND TO RISE. 


tract was made, and Jacob Voss set to work that 
day, and then Dan wrote to Mr. Dowling for 
some more money with which to pay the bill. 

The mail the day following brought a check, 
which Dan had cashed at the general store, and 
also a long letter from Mr. Dowling, a portion of 
which filled the boys with sudden hope. 

“ I am very much interested in the growth of 
that heliotrope you left with me,” he wrote. “ It 
seems to be of an entirely new variety — possibly 
a cross between an Incanum and H. Peruvianiim, 
although there is also some other trace in it. One 
thing is certain, it is going to turn out well, and I 
would advise you to hold onto every plant you 
have, and not let any of the seed go. Mine is 
just beginning to bud. If you have any still fur- 
ther advanced, send it along so that I can show it 
to several other experts.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE NEW HELIOTROPE. 

“ A NEW variety of heliotrope ! ” cried Archie, 
when shown the comunication. “ How glad I 
am that I planted the seeds from the pill box! 
The plants may be worth a fortune I ” 

“ Hardly that,” smiled Dan, yet also enthusi- 
astic. “ But they may be worth a neat penny. 
Let us look at them.” 

And, accompanied by Frank, they went down 
in the corner of the garden where Archie had 
placed the pots. A surprise awaited them. Two 
of the plants were in bloom. The clusters of 
flowers were of light and dark blue, and excep- 
tionally thick, while the perfume was exquisite. 

“ ril tell you what I’m going to do,” said Dan 
suddenly. “ I’m going to take those two plants 
to New York to-morrow and find out just what 

lOX 


103 


BOUND TO RISE. 


there is in this. Mr, Dowling is a conservative 
man and would not write such a letter unless there 
was a lot back of it.” 

As anxious as Dan, the others readily agreed 
to their elder brother’s proposition, and on the 
following morning the plants were packed with 
exceptional care, and Dan set of¥. 

Archie and Frank remained about the cottage, 
aiding the carpenter as much as lay in their 
power. Although neither would say so, both 
were burning up with anxiety concerning the 
heliotropes. It meant so much to them to prove 
the flowers of value. 

The afternoon wore along, and still Dan did 
not come, although several trains from the me- 
tropolis had stopped at the Spring Hill station. 
The early evening found the boys still waiting. 

“ He stays pretty long,” said Frank, after the 
carpenter had gone home. “ I wonder if he is 
putting all this time in on those plants? ” 

At last they heard the whistle of the last even- 
ing train. Dan must be on that, if he was com- 
ing at all. They walked down the road to meet 
him. 


THE NEW HELIOTROPE. 103 

“ There he is ! ” suddenly cried Archie. “ See, 
he is waving his cap ! ” 

“ Had to wait to see two experts,” declared 
Dan, as soon as they came up. “ And I’ve been 
over to Brooklyn and Jersey City, too.” 

“ But the heliotropes — what of them ? ” asked 
Archie eagerly. 

“ Worth five dollars apiece — and more, 
Archie.” 

“Five dollars apiece!” ejaculated Frank. 
“ Why we have forty-six of them.” 

“ One of the big flower growers from Jersey 
City offered two hundred and fifty dollars for the 
lot — if we would promise not to give any seed to 
anybody else,” went on Dan. 

“ Oh, Dan; it is a small fortune! ” cried Archie 
joyfully. 

“ Did you accept? ” asked Frank. 

“ No; I said I would have to consult you two 
first. Mr. Dowling advised me to keep all of the 
plants, and only let the flowers go this season. 
Then we are to raise all we can next season and 
‘ capture ’ the market, as he put it. Come on to 
the house, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 


104 


BOUl^D TO RISE. 


Never were a trio happier than the Atherton 
boys as they sat down in the kitchen and ate sup- 
per and talked the matter of the new heliotrope 
over. Dan had much to tell and Frank and 
Archie were close listeners. 

“ In the future Mr. Dowling says he will back 
us,” said Dan. “ He is coming out next Satur- 
day to stay until Monday, and then he says we 
can come to terms. He predicts that we will 
prosper in our new occupation.” 

The experts had placed the new heliotrope, giv- 
ing it a Latin name Dan declared was a yard 
long. “ We’ll want another name,” he said. 
“What shall it be?” 

“ Let us call it the Lady Grace,” said Archie. 

The others instantly agreed, for Grace had been 
their dear mother’s name. 

And with the naming of the new heliotrope let 
us leave them, assured that a modest prosperity 
will surely come to them. 




WALTER LORING’S CAREER: 


CHAPTER 1. 

A DEED OF MYSTERY. 

Bang! 

The report of a pistol rang out sharp and clear 
through the woods, causing the boy who lay 
dreaming by the brookside to rise up with a 
bound. ' 

“ Hullo, what does that mean ? ” he asked him- 
self, as he listened. “ Can someone be hunting 
here? There’s no game that — oh! ” 

He broke off short in his soliloquy. Looking 
across the brook, he had seen a situation which 
filled him with quick terror. 

Two men were quarreling — both rather elderly 
— the one short and stout, the other tall and thin, 
with a fox-like cast of countenance. 

The tall man, who held a smoking pistol, as the 
boy gathered, was urging that something should 


I 06 WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 

be given up to him, which the stout man refused. 
Hot words passed, when suddenly the tall man, 
who was obviously much excited, snatched out a 
revolver and leveled it at his companion, who 
stood motionless with astonishment and terror. 

The spot was a lonely one, no unfit place for a 
murder, and that a murder was about to be com- 
mitted Walter Loring did not doubt. With a 
shout he sprang from his place of concealment 
dropping the bag he held as he did so, and 
bounded down the bank. 

At that moment the revolver was discharged a 
second time, and the man who had fired it, with 
an exclamation sprang up the opposite bank and 
plunged into the wood. 

The stout gentleman staggered backward and 
sank on the grass by the roadside. He was gasp- 
ing for breath. 

“Are you much hurt, sir?” cried Walter, in 
no small alarm. 

Some seconds, perhaps minutes, passed before 
the gentleman could return any answer, and in 
broken sentences he then gave him to understand 
that he had been in no way injured by the shot. 


A DEED OF MYSTERY. 107 

That his present distress was from natural causes; 
that he was liable to such attacks if agitated, and 
that he should probably be right again in a short 
time. 

He gladly accepted the offer of Walter’s arm 
to the top of the hill at the edge of the wood, 
which fortunately was not far distant. 

But before they reached it the gentleman, who 
had by this time fully recovered his breath, 
thanked Walter in a courteous manner for the 
timely help which he had rendered him. 

“ I am glad I happened to be there, sir,” said 
Walter, who was not a little excited by the ad- 
venture. “ Is there anything else I can do? By 
running across the fields I can get to the police 
station and give the alarm much sooner than 
you.” 

“ That chase may be given to the gentleman 
who had the little altercation with me? No, 
thank you, I would not have him interfered with 
on any account. There is but one thing which 
you can do to be of service to me, and that is to 
make no fuss about what you have seen. Don’t 
spread a report that you have witnessed an at- 


lo8 WALTER TORINO' S CAREER. 

tempted murder, or anything of that kind. There 
has been no such thing.” 

Walter opened his eyes in amazement. 

The gentleman noticed that he looked sur- 
prised, and went on : “ That person is an old 
acquaintance of mine, and our dispute was such 
a one as might have arisen between friends. Oh, 
yes, quite a friendly dispute. You may be sure 
that he had no intention of injuring me with that 
foolish revolver, but he was excited. It went off 
purely by accident.” 

“ But he shot twice.” 

“ Not at me, my boy. He — that is — you are 
mistaken, I assure you. Don’t get any romantic 
idea into your head, my fine lad, that you have 
saved my life; but, still, you have been very useful 
to me, for which I am in your debt.” And, draw- 
ing his purse, he held out a five-dollar bill. 

The value of the reward caused Walter to hesi- 
tate. Never yet in his life had he called so much 
cash his own. There was, however, no reason, 
so far as he could see, why he should refuse it. 

He took it, and was expressing his acknowledg- 
ment, when the gentleman, who meanwhile had 


A DEED OF MYSTERY. 3 09 

been looking keenly at his face, demanded 
abruptly, “ What is your name — not in any way 
related to a family named Blarcomb, eh?” 

“ Not that I know of, sir. My name is Walter 
Loring.” 

“ I am glad we have met. My name is Archi- 
bald Romaine, and I am a Boston contractor. I 
am stopping at the tavern in the town and would 
be pleased to have you call this evening. Good- 
by.” 

And a moment later Mr. Archibald Romaine 
disappeared up the road alone. 

“ What can it all mean ? ” asked Walter of 
himself as he turned back in the direction in which 
his home lay. 

Walter was left in a state of no small per- 
plexity. The current of his uneventful life had 
been strangely disturbed by the occurrence of that 
afternoon. The scene he had witnessed, and the 
light in which Mr. Romaine wished to have the 
affair considered, were wholly inexplicable to 
him. 

His mind, too, was exercised with another 
point — how came it that the Boston gentleman 


no 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


noticed in him a resemblance to some person 
named Blarcomb ? There would have been noth- 
ing in this, taken by itself, but the name of Blar- 
comb, though he knew no one called by it, was 
already and curiously familiar to him. In his 
home there were books in which it was written, 
and there were household articles marked with it; 
and he now remembered that whenever in a child- 
ish way he had asked an explanation of his mother 
she had always avoided the question. 

Little did the boy dream of the truth and of all 
that was to happen to him in the near future. 


CHAPTER 11. 


MORE OF A MYSTERY. 

Walter Loring was a poor boy who lived 
with his mother in one of the least aristocratic 
sections of the pretty town of Billbury. The two 
were alone in the world. They had settled there 
when Walter, now entering his sixteenth year, 
had been but an infant. A stranger, and coming 
to so humble a home, the lonely woman had at- 
tracted little attention from the more prosperous 
townsfolk. To be sure, the doctor and the min- 
ister, whose professional duties brought them 
in contact with her, were of opinion that from 
her manners she must have known better 
times. But she made no acquaintances, and de- 
voted herself to her boy, to whom the public 
school of the town enabled her to give such an 
education as would not otherwise have been 
within her reach. 

Mrs. Loring was waiting tea for her son. 


Ill 


II2 


WALTER LO RING'S CAREER. 


Though probably not more than forty, her hair 
was already gray, and she had a careworn look. 

But she had a gentle and loving smile for Wal- 
ter. “ You are back just at the right moment,” 
she said. “ Did you get the herbs you set out 
for?” 

“No, mother, I — I — got them and then forgot 
them,” he stammered. He did not know what 
to say. 

“Why, Walter, what’s the matter?” cried 
Mrs. Loring. “ You are hiding something. 
Surely my son has not been doing anything that 
he is ashamed of ? ” 

Walter was his old straightforward self again 
in a moment. “You are partly right, mother; 
there is something I did not want to tell you, for 
it is the affair of another person who wished noth- 
ing said about it. But I have done nothing to be 
ashamed of, mother — you may rest sure of that.” 

Mrs. Boring’s eyes were fixed on him as he 
spoke; but there was no trace of deceit in that 
bright, frank face. 

“ I know I can believe you, Walter,” she said. 

“ You may, mother; and I will tell you as much 


MORE OF A MYSTERY. I13 

about the matter as I can. A gentleman had a 
misadventure in the road just by where I was 
resting. It might have been serious if I had not 
been near. I dropped the herbs when I ran to 
him. He did not wish the matter talked about, 
he said; but I can show you what he gave me.” 
And Walter drew out his five-dollar bill. 

“Five dollars! You must have done him a 
considerable service to have earned so large a re- 
ward. Was he one of our neighbors? ” 

“ No, a stranger; he told me his name was Ro- 
maine.” 

“ Romaine! ” repeated Mrs. Loring, for whom 
the name seemed to have some especial interest. 

“Yes; he was a Boston contractor, he 
said.” 

“ I have known something of a Boston gentle- 
man of that name,” replied Mrs. Loring, with an 
amount of agitation in her voice which her son 
did not notice as he went on : 

“ And what do you think he asked me, mother ? 
Whether I had any relations called Blarcomb. I 
was so much like somebody of that name. Curi- 
ous, wasn’t it ? ” 


1X4 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

“ I feel sure it is the Mr. Romaine I knew. I 
wish you had not taken his money, Walter.” 

“ Why not, mother ? He seemed like a pleas- 
ant, good-natured gentleman. He is staying at 
the Billbury tavern. He asked me to visit him 
to-night, and tell him about myself. He is in- 
clined to be friendly.” 

Mrs. Loring leaned forward, and looked ear- 
nestly across the tea tray into her son’s face. The 
mention of this stranger’s name seemed to have 
moved her deeply. “ My boy,” she said, “ you 
must not go to him. We must take no favors 
from this man. Give me this money — it must 
be returned to him. Stay, you shall write a note, 
saying that your friends — your friends, mind, not 
your mother — do not approve of your retain- 
ing it.” 

Mrs. Loring said no more. The supper fin- 
ished, the note was written and sent by a neigh- 
bor who was going to town. But Waltbr could 
not rest over the matter. 

“ Mother, what is this Mr. Romaine that you 
dislike him so much; was he mixed up in my 
father’s affairs? I ought to know all about my 


MO/?E OF A MYSTERY. 


”5 


father and about ourselves. I am old enough to 
understand — I am no longer a child.” 

Mrs. Loring looked up. Tears were stream- 
ing from her eyes. 

“ Walter, you shall hear everything some time. 
Soon enough for your own sake, my boy — soon 
enough! But not now — I cannot and must not 
tell you now.” 

She rose and hurriedly left the room, leaving 
the boy more mystified than ever. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE ATTACK IN THE WOODS. 

Walter felt restless, and, having a desire to 
walk, determined to revisit the woods and secure 
the bundle of herbs, and also a bag of nuts he had 
left behind. 

He reached the point where the descent began, 
and looked down the broad slope of curving road- 
way, shadowed on each side' by the dark trees of 
the wood. Not a person was in sight, and very 
silent and gloomy it seemed. Walter did not 
want for courage, but where will you find an 
imaginative boy of fifteen who will have no un- 
easy feeling in such a place at such a time? 

The road grew darker as he descended. 
Not even from the remotest distance was the 
cheerful sound of wheels or hoofs to be heard; 
the silence was only broken by the occasional 
hooting of an owl, deep in the wood. 

He was now near to the scene of the afternoon’s 


THE ATTACK IN THE WOODS. 117 

adventure, and on the same side of the road, 
where a spreading oak stood on the top of the 
bank, casting a deep black shadow across the way. 
Within this shadow Walter fancied that he could 
make out something still darker — a human figure 
— which seemed to him to glide up the bank and 
into the thicket. 

So much was he impressed with the reality of 
this that for a moment he stood still. Then, 
laughing at himself for indulging in such fancies, 
he ran past the oak and its shadow, and bounded 
up the bank to the point where, in the afternoon, 
he had sprung out into the open. 

Suddenly he stopped in his search for the nuts 
and herbs and raised his head to listen — there was 
a little rustling noise in the bushes near, but it 
ceased. 

“ Only a rabbit,” thought Walter, and he went 
on feeling upon the ground. 

Again there was a slight noise, and this time 
he could have said certainly that it was a stealthy 
footstep. He would have sprung up and taken 
to his heels had there been time, but as he was in 
the act of rising he felt a firm grasp laid on his 


Il8 WALTER LORING'S CAREER, 

shoulder. A moment later he was standing face 
to face in the darkness with some unknown per- 
son who was clutching him tightly. 

Who his captor was Walter could not tell, but 
the feeling uppermost in his mind was that it was 
the tall man of the revolver. And this impression 
was not reassuring, for whatever Mr. Romaine 
might say, Walter had felt sure that murder was 
intended. 

“ What are you here for, young fellow ? ” 
The speaker was plainly a stranger to the neigh- 
borhood, and the voice sounded like that of an 
educated man. Walter was sure that his sus- 
picions were correct. 

“ I had lost something — and came to look for 
it,” he answered as best he could. 

“ Lost something, eh ; and what may you hap- 
pen to have lost? ” 

“ Only a bag of nuts and some herbs.” 

“Really?” was the sarcastic answer. “See 
here, you are the meddlesome young jackanapes 
who thought proper to interfere in the little dis- 
pute between my friend and myself. Yes, I had 
a particular wish to speak with you. I saw your 


THE ATTACK IN THE WOODS. 

stuff before you were well out of hearing, and 
was sure you would come back for it, and waited, 
I had almost given you up, but here you are — 
trapped at last.” 

Walter had no answer to make. For what 
could this man want him, save to take revenge on 
him for thwarting him in his crime? He felt his 
peril to be great. 

“ And now that you are here,” the stranger 
went on, “ tell me about him.” 

“ About whom, sir ? ” faltered Walter. 

“ About him — my friend, who was hurt by the 
accidental discharge of my revolver; was he badly 
wounded ? ” 

“ Oh, no; he was not hurt at all.” 

“ Ah ! — he seemed to be hurt. I saw him fall.” 

“ He was only frightened and faint, sir. He 
was not hit.” 

“ That is well, very well,” and Walter felt his 
captor’s grasp relax somewhat as he said this. 
“ You saw him to the top of the hill — you talked 
with him — what steps is he taking? ” 

“ I do not quite know what you mean, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, you do ! Answer me ! ” 


120 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


With a fierce look in his eyes, the man caught 
Walter by the throat. 

“ Let me go ! Help ! help ! ” gasped the boy. 

“ Silence, you fool. Take that and keep 
quiet.” 

In his hand the man held a stick. Raising it, 
he struck Walter on the head. 

The blow was evidently harder than intended, 
for with a groan Walter staggered back and fell 
to the grass like one dead I 


WALTER FELL TO THE GRASS LIKE ONE DEAD. F. 120. 














CHAPTER IV. 


WALTER OBTAINS AN OPENING. 

With a long-drawn sigh Walter opened his 
eyes and sat up. Where was he? What had 
happened ? 

It was several minutes before he came fully to 
his senses. Then he looked around in the semi- 
darkness. He was alone, his assailant had van- 
ished. 

With an aching head he picked up his bag of 
nuts and the herbs and started for home. His 
thoughts were busy, but they brought him to no 
satisfactory conclusion. 

The next morning at the usual hour Walter 
started for school. Directly in his way, which 
was up the main street of the town, stood the 
tavern. He slackened his pace as he approached 
the gate leading into its yard, in the hope that he 
might learn something further of the Boston con- 
tractor. 

Fortune favored him, for at that instant two 


X2I 


123 


WALTER LO RING'S CAREER. 


acquaintances, both of his, were emerging from 
the stables. They were old Archer the mail 
carrier and Ben, his son. Walter turned into the 
yard to speak with them. 

Ben was Walter’s friend. I wish the reader to 
know something of him, for we shall have more 
of his company by and by. 

At the present moment, however, it was rather 
to the elder Archer that Walter addressed him- 
self. Yes, Sam could tell something about the 
Boston man. He had driven him and another 
gentleman — a dark man, rather tall — to a certain 
small village seven miles to the west; he thought 
they went on law business. He had heard the 
dark gentleman’s name, and believed it was 
Barker. 

“Did this Mr. Barker,” Walter inquired, 
“ come to the tavern last night ? ” 

“ No.” 

“And where is Mr. Romaine — still here?” 

“ No; he left for Boston by the early morning 
train.” 

Walter said no more, and, fearful of being him- 
self questioned, continued on his way to school. 


WALTER OBTAINS AN OPENING. 123 

The whole of Walter’s schoolboy life had been 
passed at this place; he was now among the fore- 
most scholars, and was believed to be Mr. Stan- 
ton’s prime favorite. 

The old schoolmaster was proud of his pupil’s 
abilities. He believed that he would raise him- 
self in the world; and he was perhaps all the more 
inclined toward him because he was poor and 
friendless. He would sometimes in an evening 
drop in at Mrs. Loring’s cottage that he might 
talk to the widow of her son’s prospects. He 
gave it as his opinion that Walter’s mother was 
more of a lady than were many mistresses of big 
houses in Billbury, and Mr. Stanton, notwith- 
standing the humdrum life he led, was a gentle- 
man of birth and culture, and knew what he 
talked about. 

When the work of the morning was over, and 
the boys leaving, Mr. Stanton beckoned Walter 
to his desk. 

“ Loring,” he said, “ here is a letter for you to 
take to your mother, which I received from Bos- 
ton this morning. It concerns you; it is about 
the situation which I thought might suit you. 


124 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

Tell your mother that I will call in the evening 
and talk the matter over with her.” 

Walter knew what the opening was to which 
Mr. Stanton referred. In those consultations at 
the widow’s cottage above alluded to it had been 
agreed that it was now time for him to make a 
start in life. His own leanings were in the direc- 
tion of art; his earnest desire was to be a sculptor. 
But when he had said this his mother had looked 
grave, and Mr. Stanton had shaken his head. 
Mrs. Loring was not without that high estimate 
of her son’s talents usual in mothers, but she was 
unable to maintain him through a course of art 
studies. And the schoolmaster, though he knew 
very little about art as a profession, held the belief 
that without money or a patron a young artist 
would have little chance in his struggles with pov- 
erty. His more practical idea was to get the 
youth into some Boston office where he might at 
once be able to support himself. 

Walter’s good sense and good feelings both 
told him that Mr. Stanton was right. He de- 
clared himself ready to give up his own wishes, 
and the schoolmaster promised that he would, 


WALTER OBTAINS AN OPENING. 125 

through his friends at the Hub, look out for some 
fitting berth. 

One had been heard of which promised to be 
especially suitable. It was in the office of a deco- 
rator in considerable business. Besides writing 
and accounts, a knowledge of drawing would be 
needed, so that in a humble way Walter would 
have play for his artistic power. It was expected 
to be vacant a few weeks later. 

The letter given to Walter was, however, to say 
that if he accepted this post he must enter on it 
at once. 

When Mr. Stanton came in the evening, he 
found that Mrs. Loring, though somewhat dis- 
concerted by so sudden a summons, had consented 
to let her son go, whilst he, as was natural to a 
lad of his years, was eager to be off. 

“ Walter is young,” said Mr. Stanton, “ to be 
alone in the great city of which he knows nothing. 
Has he no relatives — no uncles or aunts, say — 
under whose care he might live? ” 

“ No,” replied Mrs. Loring hurriedly, as 
though frightened by the question. “ He has 


none. 


126 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


“ That is unfortunate. As I was under the im- 
pression that you were from Boston, I hoped it 
had been otherwise.” 

“ I had no brother. My only sister was older 
than myself. She married and went out West 
whilst I was still a girl. I have long since lost 
sight of her.” 

“ And has he no friends on the father’s side? ” 
persisted Mr. Stanton. 

Mrs. Loring colored a little, and hesitated. 
“ No,” she said, “ he has no friend who could 
care for him. I must trust my boy to Providence 
and his own good principles.” 







CHAPTER V. 

A STRANGE MEETING. 

Three days later Walter was on his way to 
Boston. The train was an accommodation stop- 
ping at every station. Soon a union station was 
reached, and here came a ten minutes’ wait. 

To stretch himself, Walter walked out on the 
station platform. As he did this, he caught sight 
of a figure he fancied he knew. 

“Who can it be?” he thought. “If I— ah! 
It’s the man who struck me — and he’s got a false 
beard ! ” 

Walter looked so sharply at the fellow that 
Barker at last came toward him. 

. “ Young man,” he said, “ am I an acquaintance 
of yours that you stare at me in this manner ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” stammered Walter, taken 
back by the man’s audacity. 

“ I asked whether you were under the impres- 
sion that you were acquainted with me.” 


127 


128 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

“ Yes; it was you that struck me down in ” 

“What! You are crazy. We have never 
met, and that you will have the goodness to re- 
member.” 

This was said with a threatening air. In this 
conversation the object of Mr. Barker was obvi- 
ously to strike fear as far as possible. To Wal- 
ter’s no small disquiet, those sharp eyes were fixed 
on his face in silence for some seconds; then 
Barker said abruptly, “ Did you tell me your 
name was Blarcomb ? ” 

That name again. Walter gave a start at 
hearing it, which did not escape the other. 

“ No, sir; my name is Walter Loring.” 

“ And what, Walter Loring,” asked Barker, 
with something of a sneer in his voice, “ may you 
happen to be doing here ? ” 

“ None of your business, sir.” 

“ Very well. And now, young man,” said Mr. 
Barker, “ a word of warning to you. I am here 
and there and everywhere, and shall have my eye 
upon you. You will remember to keep silence 
about all events in which you suppose me to have 
had any concern, and you will remember that you 


A STJiANGE MEETING. t2g 

and I have no acquaintance whatever. You 
hear ” 

What more he might have added it is hard to 
say, for at that instant the train began to move 
off and Walter had to run to get aboard. 

He was more puzzled than ever. What had 
Barker meant by asking him if his name was 
Blarcomb ? 

But his meditations were interrupted when he 
reached Boston and found himself on the busy 
streets bound for the business establishment of 
Martin Pomeroy, decorator and furnisher. 

He soon reached the place, on a lane off of the 
street. There was an alley to one side, filled with 
marble, tiling, and packing cases. Beyond was 
the “ office,” a ten by thirty affair. 

Walter knocked on the door. 

“ Come in,” cried a strong, decisive voice, and 
Walter entered. It was a kind of office, with 
windows on one side, and against these was a long 
and wide sloping table — a kind of huge desk — be- 
side which stood a shrewd-looking man of per- 
haps fifty, with a pencil in one hand and a T- 
square in the other. This was Mr. Pomeroy. 


V 


130 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

“ I am Walter Loring, sir.” 

“ Um ! ” was Martin Pomeroy’s answer. He 
looked Walter over carefully. “ Glad you are 
punctual to your time, Loring. That is the right 
way to begin. Mr. Stanton sends me a good re- 
port of you. I expect you to act up to it. Sit 
down.” 

“ I shall try to do my best, sir,” said Walter, 
taking an old-fashioned easy chair standing near. 

“ Just so,” rejoined Mr. Pomeroy, “ for if you 
don’t you won’t stay long with me. For seeing 
whether my people do their- work as it should be 
done, my eyes are as good as those of most men, 
though I do wear spectacles. Now, are you 
ready to turn in to business at once? ” 

“ Quite, sir, if you wish it.” 

“ That is well. The young man who has left 
me was behind time two mornings running. He 
had to leave, and work is in arrears. Step this 
way.” 

Mr. Pomeroy led the way to another office, in 
which the arrangements were much the same as 
in his own. 

“ These plans have to be copied,” he said. “ I 


WALTER’S INTERVIEW WITH MR. POMEROY. P. I3O 














A STRANGE MEETING. 13I 

learn from Mr. Stanton that you are quick at me- 
chanical drawing; let me see how much you can 
get done by six o’clock.” 

Walter looked at the work, and saw that he 
was quite equal to dealing with it; yet when the 
door closed on him and he was left to his labors 
he felt anything but happy. Mr. Pomeroy was, 
it seemed to him, a hard man, whom it would 
never be possible to like. 


CHAPTER VL 


A DEATH IS THE SECRET LOST? 

Walter secured a boarding place that was 
comfortable if not elegant, and went to work to 
do his best. 

Among the interests and surroundings of his 
new life, it is probable that the affair in the Bill- 
bury woods, with all the mysteries and perplexi- 
ties which surrounded it, might have slid back 
into the past and been almost forgotten, had it not 
been for the strange behavior of Mr. Barker at 
the railroad station meeting. 

That interview had made a strong impression 
on Walter. He was no coward, yet this man’s 
threat, that his eye would be upon him, was a 
source of secret uneasiness to our friend. Not 
infrequently, when he was abroad after nightfall, 
a feeling would creep over him that Barker might 
be dogging his footsteps. Sometimes he would 


A DEATH— IS THE SECRET LOST? I33 

even fancy that he could distinguish his form or 
his dark face; but this probably was mere fancy, 
for through this period he could never have said 
with certainty that he had seen him. 

Occasionally, when the thought of Barker 
haunted him, he half wished that he had known 
where to find Mr. Romaine, from whom, perhaps, 
some elucidation of the mystery might have been 
obtained; but loyalty to his mother’s wish, that 
he should avoid that gentleman, forbade his tak- 
ing any steps to find him. 

Months went by and nothing out of the ordi- 
nary happened. 

Walter worked hard, and studied in the even- 
ing such works as he could obtain at the free 
library. 

He received a letter every week from his 
mother, but one week none came — instead there 
was a letter from his friend the schoolmaster. 

His fingers trembled as he tore off the envelope. 
As he feared, the letter told him that his mother 
was ill. It was desirable that he should come to 
Billbury at once. Mrs. Loring had spoken of 
some important communication which she wished 


134 WALTER LO RING’S CAREER. 

to make to him, and, indeed, he must lose no time 
if he wished to see his mother alive again. 

With the open letter in his hand, he hurried 
from his boarding house to Mr. Pomeroy’s place 
of business. 

Mr. Pomeroy was not there, and he went to 
the decorator’s home. 

Walter knew that he could ill be spared just 
then, and in Mr. Pomeroy’s present temper it 
seemed to him probable that his application for 
leave of absence would not be granted. It had to 
be made, however. 

“ Will you be so good, sir, as to look at this? ” 
and he placed the letter in his employer’s 
hands. 

Mr. Pomeroy glanced impatiently at it, but his 
expression changed as he did so. 

“ I am sorry for this, Loring — on your account. 
So you want to go ? ” 

'‘If you can spare me, sir ? ” 

“ We must spare you. Never mind your work 
here. Be off by the first train that you can 
catch.” 

Walter thanked his employer, and was turning 


A DEATH— IS THE SECRET LOST? I35 

away toward his lodgings, when Mr. Pomeroy 
called after him : 

“ Stop, Loring; another word with you. Step 
into my library. How are you off for money ? ” 
he asked abruptly, as the door closed behind them. 
“ In a case like this you cannot tell what expense 
may arise. You cannot have laid much by from 
such a salary as yours.” 

Walter had to confess that he had little more 
than would pay his railway fare. 

“ Then,” said Mr. Pomeroy, opening a drawer, 
“ I will lend you ten dollars. No, don’t stop to 
thank me. Hope for the best, my boy,” and 
Pomeroy hurried off to business. 

We need not accompany Walter on his sad 
journey. ’ His worst fears were verified — he 
reached home too late. After the first outbursts 
of his grief had subsided, he made inquiries of 
Mr. Stanton as to the communication which his 
mother had been so anxious to impart to him ; but 
he found that the schoolmaster could tell no more 
than he had already said in his letter. 

Mrs. Archer, who had nursed the poor widow 
through her illness, knew no more, though she 


136 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

believed there was some secret which weighed on 
the patient’s mind day and night. She thought, - 
however, from signs made by the poor lady when 
unable to speak, that her writing desk might 
afford some information. 

Walter examined the contents of the desk, but 
without success. Apparently, Mrs. Loring had 
passed away and left no key to the mystery. 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE SECRET DRAWER. 

Mrs. Loring^’s effects were soon disposed of, 
her trifling debts paid, and Walter went back to 
Boston. But he now seemed to have no object in 
life. He had worked with the hope of some day 
giving a comfortable home to his mother, and 
now there was nothing left to toil for. 

This depression was the natural effect of his 
grief ; in due time it passed away, and though the 
old interest in life was gone, another came to suc- 
ceed it. Now that he had no one to work for or 
care for but himself, why should he not fulfill his 
early aspirations and be a sculptor ? 

But, penniless as he was, Mr. Pomeroy’s office 
would for a long time to come be necessary to 
enable him to live, and so he toiled on day after 
day, saving his scant wages and studying at night. 

During this time Walter made a warm friend 
in Rufus Foxglove, ‘a rising young sculptor who 


*37 


138 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

had done some creditable work on a number of 
churches. Foxglove put the boy in the way of 
practical lessons in this art. 

From home Walter had brought his mother’s 
writing desk. This stood by the mantel shelf in 
his room at the boarding house. 

Bang ! crash ! It was bedtime one night when 
part of the shelf came down, knocking down the 
desk and breaking open one end. 

As he examined the damage, Walter discovered 
that a secret drawer, before unknown to him, had 
1)een disclosed by the fracture. It contained a 
paper in his mother’s hand. Regardless of every- 
thing else he hurried to a gas-burner to read it. 

It appeared that, fearing she should not live to 
see her son again, Mrs. Loring had begun to 
write down those matters which had so troubled 
her mind. Strength had not served her to finish 
her task, but what she had set down amounted in 
substance to this; 

That throughout her life at Billbury she had 
borne a false name and occupied a false position. 
She had been no widow; but that she had prac- 
ticed this innocent deception for the sake of her 


THE SECRET DRAWER. 1 39 

son — it was better that he should not be known to 
have a father, than one whose name must be a 
disgrace to him. Yet for her own part, said the 
poor lady, she had never turned her back upon 
her husband. She had done all for him that cir- 
cumstances permitted her to do ; and that she now 
left to Walter, as a sacred trust, the duty of being 
a true son and a comforter to his unhappy 
father. 

She reminded Walter of the agitation she had 
shown when he had come in contact with Mr. Ro- 
maine. “ Had you known,” she said, “ how 
nearly that man was connected with your father’s 
history, you would have understood my feelings. 

Up to this point the characters, formed under 
extreme weakness, were often only to be made 
out with difficulty, even by Walter’s loving eyes, 
but they now became altogether unreadable, and 
a few lines farther came to an abrupt end. It 
was a most sad and disappointing document. 
Walter rose with it in his hand, and in a dis- 
tracted state of mind began to pace the room. 

In the midst of his trouble Rufus Foxglove 
came in to talk matters over concerning some 


140 WALTER LORING’S CAREER, 

work Walter was to undertake. He saw some- 
thing was wrong at once. 

“What is it, Walter?” he asked earnestly. 
“ Remember, I am your friend.” 

They sat down by the stove and Walter told 
his story. “ And now,” he asked, “ what do you 
advise me to do? ” 

“ To me your duty seems plain — you have to 
carry out your mother’s wishes with regard to 
your father.” 

“ But, you see, she breaks off without telling 
me anything^ about him, or how to find him.” 

“ Then you have to find him for yourself. 
You have a clew in this Mr. Romaine. Go to 
him.” 

“ You are right, old fellow. I will hunt up his 
address to-morrow.” 

And the two friends parted for the night. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 

Foxglove advised the next day that Walter 
proceed slowly. 

“ You don’t want to make a mess of it,” he 
said. “ I’ll go with you down to where Archi- 
bald Romaine has his office, and we’ll make a few 
inquiries in the neighborhood.” 

They had to go in the evening, after Walter 
had finished his day’s work. 

The office in question was, they found, one in 
a block of buildings wholly devoted to office uses, 
and at that hour locked up. Nothing was to be 
learned there, but on the opposite side of the street 
and somewhat lower was a shop which appeared 
to combine a law-stationery business with ordi- 
nary stationery. Foxglove suggested that this 
might not be a bad place at which to make in- 
quiries. 

Upon the excuse of making some trifling pur- 


141 


142 WALTER LO RING'S CAREER. 

chase they went in. The shopkeeper proved to 
be a chatty man. From Walter’s description of 
the Mr. Romaine he at once recognized his neigh- 
bor of over the way, of whom he spoke as a well- 
known business man. 

“ Has Mr. Romaine ever had a partner named 
Barker? ” Walter asked, almost at haphazard. 

“ Not just that,” said the man. “ There had 
been a Mr. Barker with him, but he was no more 
than a managing clerk.” 

There had, he believed, once been a partner, but 
that was before his day. There was some queer 
story about him. The name he could not remem- 
ber — something, he thought, like Busby or Bun- 
comb. 

They turned to leave the shop. As they did so 
Walter caught sight of a face peering in through 
the window at himself. It was gone in an in- 
stant. 

“ See ! ” whispered Walter. 

“What?” 

“ There was Barker looking at me ! ” 

They hurried out of the shop, but before they 
could catch sight of the man again he was gone. 




» 


V ' 

» 

4 




1 





' I 






9 









I 


t 


✓ 




f 


1 

• 1 




f 


\ 


% 


V 


t 




•» 


i 

I 


V 











THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. I43 

The next day Walter got permission to go off 
and called on Mr. Romaine. Although he did 
not know it, Barker, in disguise, followed him to 
the very door of the contractor’s office to spy upon 
him, 

Mr. Romaine smiled faintly on seeing the boy, 
but he neither looked well nor happy. That 
difficulty of breathing which Walter had re- 
marked in the Billbury woods was more evident 
than ever. He was, however, very cordial. He 
had wondered, he said, that Walter should not 
have called on him sooner, and he professed him- 
self glad to see, from the young man’s improved 
appearance, that the world used him better now 
than when they had met at the queer old town in 
the mountains. 

Walter was well pleased to be able to speak of 
Mr. Pomeroy and of his bright artistic prospects. 

“ When I thought I might help you to a start 
in life,” said the contractor, “ my idea was to set 
you going as a clerk in my business. I could 
have done nothing for you in decorating, and I 
am glad, since that is your line, that you have 
found a more useful patron than I could have 


144 WALTER LORI ETC'S CAREER. 

been. Yet remember, my young friend, that I 
consider myself in your debt, and when there is 
anything in my way which can be done to serve 
you don’t fail to remind me of it.” 

Walter thanked him. “ The fact is, sir,” he 
said, “ that I came to ask a favor of you to-day.” 

“Anything connected with my business?” in- 
quired Mr. Romaine, smiling. 

“ Perhaps it is, sir. I have just learned that I 
have a father still living. It is necessary that I 
should find him. I hoped you might be able to 
put me into the way of doing so.” 

“ A father living, eh ? Well, you shall have 
the benefit of my experience. Give me particu- 
lars of the story.” 

Walter proceeded to do so, but had scarcely 
reached the pith of his narrative when he observed 
the contractor lean back in his chair gasping for 
breath. His face had become absolutely purple; 
in great alarm our friend was rushing to the door 
to summon the clerks, when Mr. Romaine, who, 
although almost speechless, was not unconscious, 
forbade him to do so by a motion of his hand. 
He indicated that he was to throw up the win- 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 

clow. Walter obeyed, and in a few minutes Mr. 
Romaine was again able to speak. 

“ I am subject to these attacks,” he said. 
“ They are nothing. Any little excitement 
brings them on, and what I heard from you natu- 
rally affected me. When I saw you in the coun- 
try I was struck with your resemblance to a per- 
son who had been well known to me. That 
person was my former partner, Henry Blarcomb. 
I can now no longer doubt that you are his son.” 

“ I had already suspected as much,” said 
Walter. 

“ And you will also be aware that his story is 
a sad one? ” 

“ Yes, everything has pointed to it; but I know 
no particulars whatever about him.” 

“ Then I am sorry that I should have to give 
them to you; but the fact is that our connection 
ceased when he was convicted of forgery.” 

“ Forgery ! ” 

The room seemed to swim before Walter’s 
eyes. 

In whatever speculations about his father Wal- 
ter might have engaged during these last days. 


146 WALTER LORING'S CAREEk. 

the idea of his being a convicted and disgraced 
criminal had never occurred to him. He was 
greatly agitated. Presently he asked: 

“ And what became of him? ” 

“ His sentence,” said Mr. Romaine, “ was a 
heavy one. It was twenty years.” Walter felt 
stunned — overwhelmed. He rose to go. Mr. 
Romaine did not seek to detain him, though his 
manner was very kind. 

“ My dear young friend,” he said, “ I am truly 
sorry to have caused ‘you so much pain, but as you 
came to me for this information it was not for me 
to withhold it. Yes, you are quite right, you had 
better go ; we are neither of us in a fit state to talk 
further of these matters. Always think of me 
as a friend. You will of course continue to bear 
the name you have hitherto borne. Good-day.” 

He was let out by the contractor through a pri- 
vate door. It was at some distance from the 
ordinary office door by which he had entered, and 
was near the bottom of a dark and gloomy com- 
mon staircase. Walter, as he came out, was like 
one in a dream, and he had gone some distance 
along the street before he became fully conscious 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 


*47 


that, throwing a chance glance up at that common 
stair, he had seen a man lurking in the shadow 
at the first turning who had been watching him as 
intently as a cat might watch a mouse, and that 
that man was Barker. 


CHAPTER IX. 


barker's demands. 

Walter went in his way, and Barker, who 
had so placed himself that he could not fail also 
to see him leave Mr. Romaine’s office, now went 
to the more public doorway and inquired if the 
contractor was in. 

“ He is,” said the clerk, “ but he cannot be 
seen. He has had one of his attacks, and wishes 
to remain quiet for a time. 

“ My business will not wait, so I am afraid I 
must disturb him,” and Barker coolly pushed open 
the door of the private room and entered. 

The contractor sat with his hands pressed to 
his eyes. As he looked up on the entrance of his 
unbidden guest, the expression of languor on his 
face changed to one of loathing, not perhaps un- 
mixed with fear. 

You have had a visitor,” said Barker 

148 


BARKER'S DEMANDS. 149 

abruptly. “ The young fellow who calls himself 
‘ Loring ’ — Blarcomb’s son ? ” 

“ Young Loring has been here. How do you 
know that he is Blarcomb’s son ? ” 

Barker turned the key in the outer door and 
looked to see that the inner one, covered with 
baize, was closely shut; then he said: “ From the 
time I first saw that boy down at Billbury I sus- 
pected who he was. I have kept my eye upon 
him. He has been making inquiries about you 
and about me in this neighborhood, and now he 
has been closeted with you. What has he been 
here for ? ” 

The insolence of the last words, and the man- 
ner in which they were uttered, appeared to irri- 
tate the contractor. “ Remember where you are, 
Mr. Barker,” he said, drawing himself up. 

Barker laughed. “ Ride the high horse, Ro- 
maine, if you like. Of course, you can refuse to 
answer me — you can order me to be turned out 
of your office, if you like. But you will do 
neither.” 

“ Barker,” said Mr. Romaine, in a lower and 
more conciliatory tone, “ I am out of sorts, and if 


15 ° WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

I must talk with you, sit down and let us talk 
quietly. Young Blarcomb has been brought up 
in ignorance of his father’s story, but it seems that 
latterly he has got some hints about it. He came 
to me wishing to learn more.” 

“ And of course you told him everything? ” 

Mr. Romaine winced. “ I told him what the 
crime was, and what the punishment. That was 
all; and, poor fellow! it seemed more than he 
could bear.” 

“ Shall you let him see you again, and fish out 
more ? ” 

“ I have asked him to visit me again. He is a 
fine lad. He interests me. I should wish to help 
him.” 

“ As a reward for his services in Billbury 
woods? ” sneered Barker. 

“ Be that as it may. To be kind to him would 
be some amends for the wrong done to his 
father.” 

“ It is unnecessary to talk of wrongs,” said 
Barker. “ Without those wrongs somebody 
would have been ruined, and somebody would be 
ruined now if those wrongs were put right. As 


BARKER'S DEMANDS. 


15 * 

to this young fellow, the less sentiment you in- 
dulge in about him the better. Hark you! Ro- 
maine! he will have to be crushed. I have kept 
my eye on him, and there is mischief in him. He 
is a clever lad, and has the stuff in him to make 
his mark in the world. Sooner or later he will 
set himself to sift this business of his father’s to 
the bottom. He will work on your soft nature, 
and revelations will be made which will mean 
ruin.” 

Mr. Romaine gave a kind of shudder. 

“ And so,” Barker went on, “ you must throw 
him overboard. I have a rough idea as to what 
should be done with him, and you will have to 
lend a hand in crushing him.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean by ‘ crushing,’ ” 
said the contractor slowly, “ and I have no wish 
to know; but this I tell you. Barker, that I will be 
no party to anything that may harm the lad. 
You are always threatening me with ruin; but 
standing as I do with one foot in the grave, I will 
have nothing to do with any more of your devil- 
ish plots. I like the lad; I have said I will be his 
friend, and I mean it.” 


152 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

For some moments Barker looked at his com- 
panion in silence. He seemed to be debating 
whether, as Mr. Romaine had taken up so deter- 
mined a position, it would not be better to defer 
further discussion. He must have decided that 
it would, for presently he said : 

“ Well, safety means much more to you than 
to me, and when you have cooled down, you will 
be glad to consider what I have said. Sorry as 
you will be to lose me, I am going; but if you 
happen to have the little check drawn which we 
talked about the other day, I think I will take it 
with me.” 

The contractor opened a drawer and produced 
the slip of paper. Barker took it, put it in his 
pocket, buttoned up his coat, and departed. 

Left to himself, Archibald Romaine groaned 
aloud. 

“Where will this end? First, the father and 
now the son? What must I do to hide the evi- 
dence of that crime ? ” 


CHAPTER X. 


A SECOND VISIT. 

Never was a fellow more miserable than was 
Walter Loring when he rejoined his friend Rufus 
Foxglove. Yet he was glad to see the young 
sculptor. The miserable knowledge which had 
come to him would be more tolerable if he could 
talk it over with his friend, and, whatever the 
rest of the world might do, he felt sure that Rufus 
would not shrink from him as the son of a dis- 
graced felon. 

And Foxglove did not. “ Even if your father 
did as you are told, Walter,” he said, “ the fault 
is none of yours; it can’t lessen our friendship, old 
fellow; but we are not sure yet that he really did 
do it. You know nothing of the circumstances 
as yet, and many innocent men have been con- 
victed ere now.” 

“ That is true,” responded Walter, glad to be 
cheered by any little ray of hope. 

“ Your mother must have known all about it,” 

*53 


154 WALTER LO RING'S CAREER. 

Rufus went on, “ and it is quite clear that she did 
not believe in his guilt; and you have a right to 
look at the brightest side at present. You have 
not heard his own version of the story yet, you 
know, and that may show matters in quite a dif- 
ferent light. Did you learn where he was im- 
prisoned? ” 

“No. I was too much upset to ask for any 
particulars.” 

“ Of course you must get to know. Mr. Ro- 
maine might or might not have the information; 
but he must know where to get it.” 

“ Yes, that I must find out. Of course I must 
see my father. I understand my mother’s mys- 
terious absence from home now — she went to visit 
him. I suppose I could get the same privilege. 
How do people get to see convicts? ” 

“ All that a man like Mr. Romaine would 
know, or find out for you. He does not seem to 
be a bad sort of fellow. Were I you, I should go 
to him again, and have a steady talk about the 
matter. I should wait a few days before doing 
so, just to get familiar with the idea, and to think 
out what ought to be said.” 


A SECOND VISIT. 


155 

Walter agreed that this would be the thing to 
do. Half his load of trouble seemed to have been 
removed by Foxglove’s sympathy, and he went to 
his work with a comparatively cheery heart. 

Yet, the second visit to Mr. Romaine’s office, 
from which Walter was to have learned so much, 
did not prove a success. He was at once ad- 
mitted to the private room, and found the lawyer 
quite as friendly in manner as before, but no 
opening was given for introducing the subject of 
which he came to speak. The interview was a 
short one, and while it lasted, Mr. Romaine kept 
the conversation to other topics. He then gave 
his visitor to understand that customers were 
waiting, and time precious; and, having made 
him promise to dine with him a few evenings 
later, dismissed him in the most pleasant way 
imaginable. 


CHAPTER XL 

A DIRECT QUESTION. 

“ He doesn’t want to talk, but I’ll make him.” 

Thus soliloquized Walter, and he meant what 
he said. 

Mr. Romaine lived in one of the smaller squares 
of the Dorchester district. His was not a large 
house, but as a mere bachelor establishment it 
was well appointed. Walter found himself the 
only guest, but the little, two-handed dinner was 
admirable and excellently served. Mr. Romaine 
fully understood the pleasures of the table. 

He was an agreeable host. He had seen much 
of the world, and could talk well about most 
things. As being the subject most interesting to 
his guest, he talked much about art. Technically 
he, of course, knew nothing of it, but he had met 
with famous artists and sculptors. He knew, 
too, how to lead the young man into talking 
freely of his own artistic views and aspirations, in 

156 


A DIRECT QUESTION. 157 

which he appeared to be, and perhaps really was, 
interested. He insisted that Walter should dine 
with him again at an early date and bring his 
models with him. 

Thus to our hero, to whom such experiences 
were new, the evening was a delightful one; and 
it was not till he was walking homeward that he 
remembered that he had not learned one word 
about his father. 

However, he would be more firm to his pur- 
pose next time. The appointed evening came, 
and, with his models under his arm, he again went 
to Mr. Romaine’s house. This evening he ex- 
perienced the delight which comes to the young 
worker but once in his life — that of the first sale 
of his works. Mr. Romaine criticised his models 
intelligently, and the praise he gave carried with 
it no impression of being mere idle flattery. He 
ended by buying a statuette of Liberty and by 
hinting at the probability of a commission for 
something larger by and by. 

On such an evening it was no wonder that the 
disagreeable topic was again unmentioned. 

These little dinners at intervals of two or three 


158 WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 

weeks were becoming an institution. After each 
of the above occasions, Foxglove had asked, 
“Any more about your father, Walter?” and 
Walter had to answer in the negative. He could 
not say that Mr. Romaine had purposely kept 
aloof from the subject, and yet he was not with- 
out a feeling that such might have been the case. 
He did not know, as we do, the motives which 
the lawyer had for wishing to avoid it. 

“ Mr. Romaine wishes to be your friend,” said 
Rufus, “ and he likes having you with him, that 
is plain; and I don’t see why he should not be 
willing to tell you all that he can. I should make 
a point of putting it straight to him were I you, 
old fellow.” 

Walter did so the next time he went — that is, 
so far as to ask whether the contractor could tell 
him where his father was confined. 

It was quite evident that the question was not 
pleasing to Mr. Romaine. He did not know, but 
probably he could procure the information; and 
having said that, he promptly turned the talk into 
another channel. 

Walter mentioned this to Rufus afterward, and 


■ A DIRECT QUESTION. 159 

the two young men agreed that a desire to spare 
the son’s feelings must be Mr. Romame’s motive 
for wishing to avoid speaking of the convict 
father. 

Shortly afterward, however, Mr. Romaine re- 
verted to Walter’s question of his own accord. 

“ I have information with regard to your 
father,” he said. “ I caused application to be 
made in the proper quarter, and have a reply.” 

“You can tell me where he is, then?” cried 
Walter eagerly. 

“ Scarcely. I am not sure whether you will 
think my information satisfactory or the reverse.” 

Walter looked perplexed. 

“ I find that Henry Blarcomb was released sev- 
eral months since for good behavior. It is be- 
lieved that he must either have left the country 
under an assumed name, or be dead — most prob- 
ably the latter. In either case, the chances that 
he will ever be heard of again are very small.” 

“ This may be relied upon, sir ? ” 

“ Absolutely — it is official.” 

“ Then any inquiries I can make will be of no 
good ? ” 


l6o WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

“ They would be quite useless. In the unlikely 
event of anything more being heard of him, I 
should be informed by the police authorities, and 
should let yon know. My advice to you is, not 
to waste your energies on a wild-goose chase, but 
to apply them steadily to your own pursuit of art, 
in which, I think, I may say without flattery, that 
you have a fair future before you.” 

With this, Mr, Romaine closed the subject. 
But Walter was not satisfied, nor was Foxglove 
satisfied when the conversation was reported to 
him. Neither of them doubted the statement, 
but they both held that Walter ought to know the 
full particulars of the crime charged upon his 
father. Mr. Romaine was the only person of his 
acquaintance who could supply these particulars; 
and the two young men agreed that, notwith- 
standing his evident reluctance, Walter would be 
justified in pressing him for them. Circum- 
stances of a startling nature were, however, about 
to happen which rendered any such proceeding 
on his part unnecessary. 

Through these weeks Mr. Romaine had, so 
far as Walter knew, had no return of his alarm- 


A DIRECT QUESTION. l6i 

ing attacks. On each of the evenings mentioned 
he had appeared in excellent health and spirits. 
But when our friend next knocked at his door, 
the servant who opened it showed a grave face. 
His master had, he said, been brought home ill 
from the office the previous afternoon. He had 
had a bad night and day. The doctor said he 
should pull him through this time, but Mr. Ro- 
maine was less hopeful about himself. 

“ He gave orders, sir,” said the man, “ that you 
were to be shown to his room at once when you 
came.” 

The contractor was propped up with pillows, 
and breathed with difficulty. He motioned to 
Walter to close the door, and come to his 
bedside. 

“ I shall not get over this,” he said, “ and I 
wished to see you. There are matters relating 
to that affair of poor Blarcomb which I must tell 
before I die, and you, his son, ought to know 
them. I have taken a liking to you, and have 
wished to be your friend — I have been your 
friend, for I have stood between you and an 
enemy who both hates and fears you, and who 


'V 


i 62 Walter LorinC's CAREEk. 

sticks at nothing. Barker is your enemy, and I 
warn you to beware of that man.” 

It was only in broken sentences and with long 
pauses that the sick man was able to proceed thus 
far, but this seemed to exhaust him. He made 
attempts to proceed. It was evidently about the 
crime attributed to Henry Blarcomb that he 
wished to make some statement. But he broke 
down altogether. 

Walter, who thought him dying, called for 
help. The doctor was summoned; and it was 
long before the patient again became conscious. 
Any further talk with him that night was out of 
the question, and Walter left the house. 

When he called to make inquiries next day, Mr. 
Romaine was better; but he was not allowed to 
see him. The following day there was decided 
improvement. Walter saw him, and found him 
confident of recovery. He spoke of what had 
passed between them, but said that he had now 
changed his mind. 

“ You shall know all that I wish to tell in due 
time,” he said, “ but not now. Your father is 
dead, and a few weeks, or, at the most, months, 


A DIRECT QUESTION.. 163 

can make no difference to anyone. My time will 
be short, but whilst I live you must wait. You 
will desire to do justice to your father’s memory, 
and such means as I can put in your power you 
shall have — but not till I am gone. Will this 
content you ? ” 

Walter could only answer that it would. 

Mr. Romaine was soon to all appearance as 
well as ever again, and again went to his office; 
but he did not forget his engagement. He one 
day called Walter’s attention to a row of tin 
boxes, ranged on a shelf, and bearing the names 
of customers. A new one had been added, on 
which was painted “ Mr. Walter Loring.” 

“ That,” he said, giving Walter a key, “ con- 
tains the paper which I have written for your in- 
formation, with some other documents relating 
to the same subject. I have left instructions that 
the box be handed over to you after my death.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


ben's queer story. 

“ Hullo, Walter Loring! ” 

“Why, Ben, is that you?” cried out Walter, 
and he seized his old friend’s hand. “ How are 
things in Billbury? ” 

“ I’m not in Billbury any more,” returned Ben 
Archer. “ I’m in Bokon.” 

“To stay?” 

Ben nodded. 

“ It’s this way,” he explained. “ Father is 
dead and mother and I came here to make our 
living.” 

“And what are you doing?” 

“ Keeping a little restaurant near the Jackson 
docks. We are doing pretty well, too,” Ben con- 
tinued. “ But I must get along. I was sent to 
buy some potatoes.” 

“ Come and see me,” said Walter, and Ben 

164 


BEN'S QUEER STORY. 165 

promised, and came several times and was intro- 
duced to Foxglove. 

One night he called with a particularly sober 
face. Foxglove was also at Walter’s apart- 
ment. 

“ Since I was here last,” said Ben, “ a queer 
thing happened at our place. Folks say ‘ good 
bread hurts no man,’ but it nearly killed a cus- 
tomer in our restaurant.” 

Walter and Rufus expressed their curiosity and 
begged Ben to proceed. He went on : 

“ I was in the back room when a tallish, thin 
man came into the shop. His clothes were very 
poor, but you could see that he had been a gentle- 
man in his time. A hungrier-looking man I 
never set eyes on.” 

“ Poor wretch ! ” ejaculated Foxglove. 

“ He had a quarter tight in his hand; down he 
lays it on the counter and asks for some rolls. 
My mother picks it up before she reaches the 
bread — she’s sharp in business, she is — and rings 
it. ‘ Thud ’ it goes. ‘ You don’t come these 
tricks here,’ she says, and calls out to me; ‘ Fetch 
the policeman, Ben ! ’ ” 


i66 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


“ This grows exciting,” cried Walter. 
“What next?” 

“ I was peering out at the poor gentleman — he 
looked it, for all his rags — and I saw what a 
hopeless look came into his face when he heard 
the money was bad. I felt sorry for him, that I 
did, but I had to look like a boss for mother’s 
sake; so I comes out and says : ‘ Now, will you go 
to the station quiet, or won’t you ? ’ ” 

“ And then ? ” queried Rufus. 

“ Why, then, sir, what should the poor chap do 
but drop on his knees and beg we’d do anything 
with him but hand him over to the police. He 
vowed he didn’t know the quarter was bad. He 
was, as we might see, starving, and as he came 
along the parks he found the money. He had 
brought it into the first shop he came to.” 

“ And what did you do? ” 

“ I ? I looked at mother to see what I was to 
do, but instead of looking at me she takes a knife 
and cuts a big slice from one of the loaves of 
bread on the counter. Clever as she is, she is 
every bit as foolish as I am at times. Well, she 
gives it to the poor chap, and he begins eating it 


BEN’S QUEER STORY. 

as if he hadn’t touched bread for a week past. 
But before he’d half finished it, down he dropped 
like anyone in a fit. Good bread went near kill- 
ing him, and a queer thing it was.” 

“ And what was the end of it ? ” inquired 
Rufus. 

“ I thought perhaps I had better go to the 
police, but mother, she says: ‘You stupid, don’t 
you see he’s dying for want? And while the 
police are making a fuss ov^r him he’ll be dead. 
You carry him into the kitchen.’ And I took 
him in, and she gets some broth and gives it to 
him, little by little, with a spoon, and by and by 
he comes round.” 

“ Good ! ” cried Foxglove, and Walter clapped 
his hands. 

“ And so,” Ben continued, “ he got better. 
We had our doctor to him, and he said he ought 
not to be moved. By good luck we had a spare 
room, and mother she says : ‘ We won’t have any 
risk by taking him to the station ; we’ll put him in 
the room.’ So there he is.” 

“ But I want to hear — did he turn out to be a 
gentleman after all ? ” asked Walter, 


i68 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


Well, sir, he let me know (confidential like, 
as I may tell you) that he’d been a contractor and 
had been sent to prison for something he hadn’t 
done — forgery, I think he said — and that he’d 
been years in prison before they let him out, and 
that he was now going about in fear of his 
enemies.” 

Walter was much affected. He thought of his 
father. Could this man Ben had described be 
his parent? f 

“ I must see that old gentleman at once ! ” cried 
Walter in excitement. 

Much perplexed as to what the meaning of this 
might be, Ben led the way, but he soon found 
himself unable to keep pace with the eagerness of 
his companion. 

They reached the house, and Walter was shown 
by Mrs. Archer into the invalid’s room. He was 
now dressed in his poor, worn clothes and was 
seated by the fire. True, he had, as Ben said, 
some indications of the bearing of a gentleman, 
but such a haggard, worn, broken-down wretch 
did he appear that Walter’s first thought was a 


BEN'S QUEER STORY. 169 

hope that he might not prove to be the father 
whom he had come so eagerly to seek. 

As Walter entered, the poor man started and 
cast a frightened glance toward him, which Mrs. 
Archer understood. 

“ You need not be afraid to talk to this young 
gentleman,” she said; “ our Ben has known him 
all his life, and he has come to speak with you.” 

“ I am sure I need not distrust any old friend 
of your son’s, Mrs. Archer. Pray be seated, 
sir.” 

Walter sat down in the only unoccupied chair 
in the room. 

“You wish to learn something from me?” 
said the poor gentleman. “I shall gladly give 
you any information that I can, though I ques- 
tion whether anything that I can now say can 
interest any person living. After the assurance 
I have had I am convinced that you do not wish 
to extract anything from me that can be used to 
my prejudice.” 

“ Far from it,” replied Walter. “ I came with 
the hope that I might render you a service — that 


170 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

I might possibly be the means of placing you in 
communication with your family.” 

“ Then,” said the gentleman, with a sad smile, 
“ I fear you were under a mistake when you 
undertook your kind mission. I have no rela- 
tions left who would feel an interest in me. If I 
have a son living, he is probably not aware of my 
existence. One person only remained faithful to 
me through my troubles, and she I now know is 
dead. That was my wife.” 

At each word Walter’s suspicion that this man 
must indeed be his father grew stronger and 
stronger. “ I imagine,” he said, “ that I must 
have known something of this lady. She did 
not, I think, bear her real name? ” 

“No; she was known as Mrs. Loring — Mary 
Loring!” 

“ And her real name,” cried Walter, spring- 
ing up, “ was Blarcomb — Mary Blarcomb — and 
your name is Blarcomb — and so is mine — Walter 
Blarcomb. Do you not recognize me ? lam her 
son, and yours ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Walter's father. 

Yes, Walter had found his father, and now 
that he was sure of it he was not ashamed of him ; 
he was only ashamed of the unworthy wish that 
had so lately passed through his mind. At first 
Mr. Blarcomb, who was still very weak, seemed 
bewildered by the discovery, but this passed, and 
father and son had a long talk together. 

Mr. Blarcomb told the story of his wrongs. 
He most solemnly asserted his innocence of the 
forgery and declared that he had been the victim 
of a base conspiracy between his partner, Archi- 
bald Romaine, and Ralph Barker, 

It was with the deepest indignation that Walter 
listened to these statements. He felt convinced 
of their truth, for they explained what before had 
been incomprehensible — the hatred of Barker for 
himself and the strange behavior of Mr. Romaine. 


>71 


172 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

It was rather against the latter that his anger 
was excited. The idea that he should have eaten 
and drunk and received favors from a man who 
had brought about the ruin of his father in such 
a manner was loathsome to him. 

He went home longing to tell him what he 
thought of his conduct and to repudiate his 
friendship. 

It was two days later that Walter started out 
to call on Archibald Romaine. 

When he reached the place he found the door, 
contrary to all precedent, standing open. Within, 
the clerks were not in their places. A sound of 
confused voices issued from Mr. Romaine’s pri- 
vate room, the door of which also was not closed. 
What could it mean? 

After a moment’s pause Walter crossed to the 
door of the sanctum and looked in. Several per- 
sons were crowding about Mr. Romaine’s chair — 
the two clerks and the messenger and the house- 
keeper and a gray-headed gentleman whom he 
did not recognize. At first he supposed that the 
gentleman himself was not there; then he became 
aware that a something had sunk down into a 


WALTER'S FATHER. 


173 


confused heap in the leather-covered chair, and a 
feeling of alarm and awe came over him. 

He had indeed come too late. Another visitor 
— one who enters at all doors, but knocks at none 
— had entered before him. Death was there. 
The ears into which his bitter words were to have 
been poured were closed forever against all re- 
proach. 

“ Nothing can be done,” said the gray-headed 
gentleman — a doctor as it seemed. “ He has 
been dead this half-hour. He was quite alone, 
you say ? ” 

“ Quite,” returned an assistant. “ He was not 
strong, and when anything has happened to dis- 
turb him he has of late liked to be left alone for a 
time afterward.” 

“ Suffered under excitement, did he ? and some- 
thing had happened to disturb him ? ” 

“ Yes, he had a visitor; a person who was for- 
merly his confidential clerk. We don’t know the 
nature of this man’s business, but Mr. Romaine 
has generally seemed upset after his visits.” 

“ I tell you this, sir,” put in Mr. Brown, the 
junior, in a half-whisper, “ there were high words 


174 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

between them — I could hear, for all the double 
door. He’s a queer man, that Mr. Barker. No 
likelihood of foul play, eh, sir? ” 

“ ’Sh ! ’sh ! ” came from the assistant, and the 
doctor spoke hurriedly. “ No, no; certainly not. 
All appearances point to death from natural 
causes — heart probably. His own medical man 
ought to have warned him against excitement.” 

And the doctor went his way. 

As Walter looked on the distorted face now 
stiffening in death, he knew that a great change 
had come over his feelings. His anger was gone. 
Whatever this dead man might have been to 
others, to him he had been kindness only. Tears 
rose to his eyes, and Walter would have stolen 
away unseen had not Mr. Brown accosted him — 
speaking, as the occasion demanded, in an under- 
tone: 

“ It’s an awful thing, Mr. Loring, and I don’t 
wonder at your being affected. He thought 
much of you.” 

“ Mr. Romaine was always good to me.” 

“ Yes, and very particular he was about your 
papers — more than about any others. There, 


WALTER'S FATHER. 


I7S 

you see, is your box — but, bless me! why it’s 
gone 1 ” and he pointed to a vacant place on the 
shelf. “ It was there this morning. Surely that 
Barker — oh, no; here it is,” and he picked up the 
box from the floor, where it lay, bruised and in- 
dented, as if by a fall. 

At another time the circumstance might have 
excited Walter’s curiosity, but now, standing as 
he did in the presence of death, he scarcely no- 
ticed it. Preparations for removing the body 
were being made, and quietly and reverently he 
withdrew from the place. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HARD TIMES. 

Mr. Blarcomb recovered but slowly, and with 
the additional expense incurred, Walter found it 
often hard to make both ends meet. 

“ You don’t look cheerful,” remarked Rufus 
one day. “ Don’t let the stain on your family 
name cast you down. It will all come out right 
in the end.” 

“ I was worrying over my increased expenses.” 

“ Oh, well, do the best you can, and remember 
if times are bad we’ll share and share alike, you 
know.” 

“ You are a good fellow, Rufus, and mean 
what you say; but I must see what I can do for 
myself.” 

Walter did so. He opened his case to Mr. 
Pomeroy. He had grown to have a thorough 
belief in that very practical man. Mr. Pomeroy 


HARD TIMES. 177 

said if Walter liked to come in earlier to the 
office he could do so at double his present salary; 
trade was brisk and there would be work both 
for him and for the lad. So the arrangement 
was made. 

And now our friend stood face to face with the 
world and knew that he had a hard battle to fight. 
It was a cruel change. But a little while since all 
his prospects had appeared so bright and his up- 
ward way so easy. Now, as well as maintaining 
himself, the charge of his sick father would rest 
upon him. 

Poverty and hard work were all that he could 
see before him; nevertheless he hoped and re- 
solved by God’s blessing to fight it through and 
make a place and a name in the world yet. 

The social pleasures — the little dinners at Mr. 
Romaine’s — were now things of the past. His 
relaxations were his duty visits to his father’s 
room. Nor were these without pleasure. As 
the unfortunate man slowly gained strength he 
showed, though at intervals only, something of 
what he had been in his happier days. His must 
have been an intellectual and even a brilliant 


17 ^ WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 

mind; the honorable instincts of a gentleman had 
obviously been strong in him — the courteous 
manners of one he had always retained. 

The more Walter saw of his father the more 
firmly did he believe him to be incapable of such 
a crime as that with which he had been charged, 
and the more earnestly did he long for the means 
of clearing his character before the world. 

Mr. Romaine had dropped words to the effect 
that the papers which he bequeathed to Walter 
would enable him to do this. But the tin box 
had not yet been handed over. The usual for- 
malities had to be observed before anything could 
be removed from the dead man’s office. Walter 
had called more than once, when he had happened 
to be in that direction, to make inquiries, but with 
no results beyond the exchange of a few friendly 
words with Mr. Brown. 

A day, however, came when the office assistant 
held out hopes that in about a week he should 
have the necessary authority. As Walter was 
going out and nodding a passing good-day to 
Brown, that young gentleman said, almost in a 
whisper : “ I want a word with you, Mr. Loring — 


HARD TIMES. 


179 


private, you know. Could you wait for me out- 
side for five minutes ? ” 

Walter paced slowly up the pavement, and was 
presently joined by the junior. 

“ You know that Mr. Barker? ” the latter be- 
gan, in a tone in which there was a touch of 
mystery. 

Our friend assented. 

“ Do you know why he is so anxious to get at 
your deed box ? ” 

Walter only answered by another question; 
“ Does he want to get at it ? ” 

“ He does,” in a tone of deeper mystery. “ He 
he has been trying to tamper with me — throwing 
out hints that it might be worth my while to help 
him to it. He is a deep hand, is Barker; but he 
has made a mistake in his man this time.” 

“ You have told him so? ” 

“ Not a bit of it. You have always been pleas- 
ant to me, Mr. Loring, and I like you. So, think- 
ing you might wish to get an insight into his 
moves, I left the business open. He is to see me 
again.” 

“ It was awfully good of you to think of me. 


l8o WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 

It might be a very great advantage to me to learn 
what he is after. If you can extract anything 
from him without committing yourself, I shall be 
vastly obliged to you.” 

Brown promised to do his best and to report 
progress as soon as he had anything to tell; and 
they parted. 

Here was matter for further speculation. If 
the papers in the tin box were what Walter sup- 
posed them to be, Barker’s desire to secure them 
was quite comprehensible. They must contain 
matter which would criminate him. But it was 
not easy to understand how he had gained his 
knowledge about them. On that point Walter 
found himself completely in the dark. 


CHAPTER XV. 


ABOUT THE TIN BOX. 

A WEEK later Walter one morning received by 
the same post a formal note from the assistant, 
informing him that he could now have his deed 
box at any time within office hours, and a less 
formal one from Mr. Brown. This letter con- 
tained a request that he would look in at the 
writer’s lodgings in the evening, as he had matter 
to communicate which could only be told by word 
of mouth. 

Walter left work at an early hour. 

It was November. Since morning a fog had 
hung over the town, which had grown denser as 
the short day drew toward its close. The pave- 
ments were damp and greasy under foot, the air 
was cold and raw; the prpspect of a long walk 
was far from a cheerful one, but there were no 
spare nickels now to pay for rides. 

When Walter set out it was, by courtesy, still 


i83 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


daylight, though the gas had long been burning 
in shops and offices. Soon, however, the street 
lamps were set alight, and evening fairly inaugu- 
rated. But no light could penetrate far into the 
dense fog. Everything was dim and uncertain, 
and the lively imagination of our friend pictured 
with what ease an enemy — Ralph Barker, per- 
haps — might have glided along, almost by his 
side, unrecognized. How could he tell that any 
one of the figures that passed near him, muffled 
in vapor, was not that man? 

Walter had timed his visit well. The office, 
when he reached it, was about to be closed. 
Entering what was once Mr. Romaine’s private 
room, for probably the last time, he gave a formal 
receipt to the assistant for the deed box, and took 
it under his arm. As he returned through the 
outer office he found Mr. Brown just putting on 
his coat. The two young men walked out 
together. 

The streets looked doubly dismal after the com- 
parative brightness of the office; Walter was 
really glad that he had a companion, and Brown 
at once began to talk. 


ABOUT THE TIN BOX. 183 

“ I can’t make much out of that fellow Barker, 
except that he sets a pretty high value on what- 
ever may be in your box.” 

“ Indeed ! I am anxious to hear what passed 
between you.” 

“ As we have time, ’’said Brown, “ I can tell 
you all about it, from the beginning. He 
dropped in soon after the governor’s death, and 
began talking to me in a friendly way, as he had 
never done before, and somehow he contrived to 
mention that box of yours, and to ask in a care- 
less way when it would be given to you. I, hav- 
ing no suspicions, said that as things were going, 
it could not be for several weeks. He dropped 
the subject. My belief is that, with plenty of 
time before him, he thought that he should be 
sure to find a chance of collaring it on the 
sly.” 

“ You don’t give our friend credit for the most 
honorable designs ! ” 

“ Honorable ! I know what his designs are 
from his own mouth. But our manager dis- 
trusted him, and never gave him a chance, and 
then Mr. Barker tried to work me,” 


1 84 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

^‘Yes, you told me; but have you seen him 
again ? ” 

“ Two nights ago, when I came out of the 
office, he was waiting for me — as he might be 
now.” 

Mr. Brown glanced round, which caused Wal- 
ter to do the same, and with some return of his 
former nervous dread. 

“ And what should he do but offer me fifty dol- 
lars if I would smuggle your box out to him ! I 
let him know that the money would be useful — 
which was true enough — but that there was risk. 
He said that if I managed things well there need 
be no risk, for I might contrive to let the messen- 
ger or someone else get the blame, and that I 
could choose my own time. I answered — rather 
unguardedly, I fear — that there would be very 
little time left now; and then, you know how 
quick he is, he was down on me in an instant. 

Mr. Brown stopped abruptly. A moment 
later he whispered, “ Step on faster. Someone is 
walking behind and keeping pace with us as if he 
were listening.” 

Brown spoke without turning his head, but 


ABOUT THE TIN BOX. 185 

Walter looked round. It was a quiet street, one 
person only was near enough to be seen in the fog, 
and he had stopped at a door. 

“ A false alarm,” he said. “ How was Barker 
down on you ? ” 

“ He gripped me by the arm and hissed out : 
‘ Has Meakin received authority to give up those 
things ? ’ I owned that he had ; and then came : 
‘ When will this boy have the box ? ’ ” 

“ Did you tell him that, too? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” chuckled Mr. Brown, “ I told him 
what I chose to tell him. Feeling sure that you 
would get it by to-morrow morning at the latest, 
I gave him to understand that it would not be 
delivered to you till the day after to-morrow. 
I had no compunction about bamboozling 
him.” 

“ Excellent ! He had his match in you.” 

“ I hope so. I also hinted to him that to- 
morrow I would see what could be done, and that 
if he would meet me to-morrow evening, and 
bring the money, he might possibly learn some- 
thing to his advantage. He will learn,” said 
Mr. Brown, with another chuckle, “ that he has 


i86 


WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 


been made a fool of, and that the box is safely in 
the keeping of its proper owner.” 

Bravo ! ” cried Walter, “ I should like to see 
Barker when ” 

“ ’Sh ! ’sh ! ” whispered Brown, “ speak lower 
— I hear those footsteps again.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A CHASE IN THE FOG. 

Walter and his companion stopped and looked 
round and listened, but there was nothing to give 
any show of probability to the supposition that 
they were followed. They went on, and pres- 
ently turned into a wider street. 

Before them was a large saloon, the lights of 
which made a sort of hazy brilliance in a little 
space of fog in front of it, and here some street 
musicians were performing. On such an even- 
ing the idlers in the streets were comparatively 
few, yet a little crowd had collected, through 
which our friend and the clerk had to elbow their 
way. 

Walter wore a cape coat beneath which the 
tin box was carried snugly and out of sight; yet, 
as they pushed through the listeners, some per- 
son, putting his hand as it seemed under the cape, 
struck the box with his knuckles hard enough to 

187 


i88 


WALTER LORING’S CAREER. 


make it give out a ringing sound; still the inci- 
dent was so trifling that Walter scarcely no- 
ticed it. 

No sooner, however, were they clear of the 
throng than Walter felt Brown clutch his arm 
nervously, and looking at him he saw alarm in 
his face. “ What is it? ” he asked. 

“ Step on,” whispered Brown, “ as fast as you 
can. My rooms are just round the corner. Did 
you see who it was that touched your box ? ” 

“ Some drunken idiot, I take it.” 

“No; I saw his face — it was Barker. That 
man must have been watching the office, and he 
has followed us. He is sure now that you have 
the box, and I don’t believe he would stick at 
murder to get it. But we have distanced him. 
Now let us slip round the corner — in the fog he 
will not see where we are gone — and here we are 
at my place.” 

Mr. Brown produced his latchkey; the street 
door closed behind them; and outside it were left 
those two disagreeable companions, the fog and 
Ralph Barker. 

A bright fire was burning in Mr. Brown’s 


A CHASE IN THE FOG. 189 

grate, and its warmth was a pleasant thing after 
the dank clinging vapor without. As the two 
young men stood chatting before it, they con- 
gratulated themselves on having given the slip to 
their pursuer. 

Ten minutes later, thinking the coast clear, the 
door was opened, and the two looked out to- 
gether. The fog seemed to be growing denser 
rather than otherwise; but no Barker was to be 
seen, and they concluded that their ruse had been 
successful. But Walter, as he plunged anew into 
the fog, was deluding himself with a vain hope. 
While he had basked in the pleasant glow of the 
fire, a figure buttoned to the chin, but shivering 
in the raw vapor, had been cowering in a dark 
doorway opposite, watching every change of 
shadow that fell on Mr. Brown’s window blind. 

Barker found himself forced to play a bold 
game. He was no longer a man in desperate cir- 
cumstances, as he had been at the time of the Bill- 
bury woods affair. The business which he had 
established by blackmail levied on his former mas- 
ter had proved a success. He could not afford to 
be exposed. In that box were documents which 


1 90 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

might ruin him, and he was resolved to have it 
at all hazards. Too wary to trust to Brown’s 
statements, he had kept an eye on the office, and 
seeing the two young men come out together, sus- 
pected that he had been tricked. He had not 
been deceived by their slipping into this place of 
refuge; he expected it, for he had taken care to 
ascertain where his intended tool lived. So, no 
sooner did Walter again start homeward than 
Barker again silently glided after him. 

His plan was to follow unseen till a favorable 
moment should arrive; but so thick had the at- 
mosphere now become that to keep his man in 
sight it was necessary to follow closely. Thus it 
was that before three blocks were passed, Wal- 
ter’s ear had more than once noticed the regular 
fall of footsteps behind, which seemed to echo his 
own, and glancing around, had caught sight of 
the closely buttoned figure looming through the 
fog. At such times an uncomfortable question 
would pass through his mind as to whether it was 
possible that his enemy could again be after him. 

Presently the silence of the street made him feel 
certain that those soft footfalls echoing his own 


A CHASE IN THE FOG. 


191 

could be no delusion and no accident. They were 
nearer than ever; and now through the thick mist 
he could make out that the tightly buttoned figure, 
which he felt sure was Barker, was almost close 
upon him. 

He was no longer the timid boy who had been 
struck down in the woods, but ever since that time 
this man had inspired him with a kind of in- 
stinctive dread. He believed him to be equal to 
any crime, and he expected that he was armed. 
Any parley with him was to be avoided if pos- 
sible. He quickened his pace to his very fastest 
walk. 

But his pursuer was not easily to be outdis- 
tanced. His own hurried footfalls drowned 
those behind him, but the first glance round 
showed him the figure in the fog scarcely farther 
away than before. 

At the next look it was still nearer. Barker 
was an active man, and he was evidently making 
a spurt — this, indeed, was the place of all others 
for him to close with his prey. 

What was to be done? Should he turn and 
confront his enemy? He thought of Barker’s 


igi Walter loring's career. 

revolver — the risk was too great. Should he 
throw the box over the high iron palings into the 
adjacent gardens? or, should he lay aside his 
pride and run for it ? 

He took the last course — he ran. 

“ Stop!” 

Walter made no reply. He ran faster than 
ever. With a yell Barker came after him. It 
was nip and tuck for a minute and then the boy 
found himself tight in his enemy’s grasp. 

“ So I’ve got you at last ! ” hissed Barker. 

“Let me go!” gasped Walter. “You have 
no right ” 

“ Shut up ! The box — hand it over instantly.” 

“I will not!” 

“ I say you shall.” 

A struggle commenced, and the man was get- 
ting the better of it when suddenly he slipped on 
the wet pavement and went down with Walter on 
top of him. 

“Oh, my ankle!” roared Barker. “It is 
twisted out of shape.” 

Walter made no reply. Wrenching himself 
free, he ran his fastest, never staying to look back, 


A CHASE IN THE FOG. 1 93 

and never halting until he reached his boarding 
place. 

It was several minutes before Barker got up 
and hobbled after the boy. His face fairly 
glowed with rage. 

“ I’ll fix him yet L” he growled under his 
breath. 

When Walter had turned into the lonely street 
Barker had congratulated himself on being sure 
of success. He knew how deserted it would be 
on such a night, and believing that Walter was 
not aware that he was followed, he hoped by 
pouncing suddenly upon him to induce him to sur- 
render the all-important box without resistance. 
When, however, his prey slipped almost from 
under his very grasp, he was not a little 
chagrined. 

But he was not yet beaten. He knew all about 
Walter’s boarding house — a rather lonely resort 
on a side street. Walter would be alone; by fol- 
lowing him there would still be a reasonable hope 
of success. 

So Mr. Barker trudged on till he entered that 
quiet scrap of back street upon which the house 


<94 WALTER LO RING’S CAREER. 

opened. Except by the fog, which was there in 
force, it seemed wholly deserted. 

He knocked on the door. Had the young man 
taken his treasure elsewhere? for there was no re- 
sponse. He knocked a second time, and more 
loudly. A pause followed, and then there were 
steps within, and the door was opened. 

“ Is Mr. Loring in ? ” asked the tightly but- 
toned visitor, so edging himself into the opening 
as to render it impossible to close the door on 
him. “ Ah, I see it is Mr. Loring himself. You 
do not remember me. My name is Barker.” 

He forced Walter back and entered the house. 









CHAPTER XVIL 


A THRILLING MOMENT CONCLUSION. 

Unfortunately Walter was alone, the other 
boarders and the landlady being out. He tried 
to force Barker back, but failed. Then he ran 
up to his room, but the man followed. 

“ Ah ! ” he cried as he glanced at the center of 
the room. 

Beneath the gas burner stood a table, round 
which were two or three chairs, and on the table, 
as if hastily set down by Walter when he had 
entered, was the deed box. On this Mr. Barker’s 
eyes rested greedily. 

“ You are here alone? ” he asked. “ This is a 
queer place of yours. There are people with 
whom I should not care to be alone here. I 
should call it a creepy sort of place.” 

“It is quiet,” said Walter, “and suits my 
study. Mr. Barker, let me know what your busi- 
ness is,” he went on as steadily as he could. 


196 WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 

“ My business,” he began, “ is urgent, or you 
may be sure I should not have tramped so much 
Boston pavement after you on such a night as 
this; and unless I deceive myself, you can guess 
what it is — that box brings me here. You know 
what its contents are? ” 

“ I have not opened it nor seen them.” 

“ Then I may tell you that it is stuffed with a 
pack of libelous documents, concocted for no 
other purpose than to defame my character. 
Their author was a man who ought to have been 
grateful for the services I had rendered him, but 
who was a viper, and only hated me for them.” 

“ Do you allude to Mr. Romaine ? ” 

Yes, I mean Romaine. Too great a sneak to 
strike at me when I could possibly strike again, 
he forms a scheme to blacken my fair fame by 
lies which are only to be produced after he is dead 
and cannot be called to account for them.” 

“ These are strong assertions, Mr. Barker. 
!Yre you justified in making them? May I ask 
how you come to be so well acquainted with the 
contents of this box? ” 

“ How ? Why, on the best authority — from 


A THRILLING MOMEN T— CONCLUSION. 197 

the man himself. He boasted of the dastardly 
thing he was doing; it was on the very day he 
died. I challenged his right to do it, and de- 
manded that the papers should then and there be 
handed over to me.” 

“ It may be presumed, then,” said Walter, 
“ that the excitement brought on by your 
violence was the immediate cause of his 
death ? ” 

“ And if it was, young man, he had himself, 
and not me, to thank for it. But that is neither 
here nor there. The just demand I made to him 
I now make to you; it is that these papers, which 
affect no man alive but myself, should be given 
over to me.” 

“ What ! before I have looked at them ? ” 

“ Certainly; neither you nor any other person 
ought to become acquainted with these slanders. 
But while I do my duty by my own character, I 
have no wish to do you the semblance of an in- 
jury. You shall have money for them — you 
want money ? ” 

“ Granted.” 

You shall have ten dollars,” 


198 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


“ Thank you. But to me their value ” 

“Not one cent more, and I have no time to 
waste in words.” 

As Barker had spoken, he had gradually 
moved to the table; he now laid his left hand on 
the box. His right he thrust into the breast of 
his topcoat, as if to produce his purse. 

“ You misunderstand me, Mr. Barker. The 
worth of these papers to me is not one to be meas- 
ured by money. I am given to understand that 
they will enable me to clear the character of my 
father, Henry Blarcomb.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” sneered Barker. “ So you 
know the story of your honored father — forger 
and convict — do you, Mr. Walter Blarcomb? I 
congratulate you on his memory. But as he, like 
Romaine, is dead, nothing here can make much 
difference to him. Hark you! You have ac- 
cepted my offer.” 

“ No ” began Walter. 

“ Silence, boy 1 It is arranged that I pay you 
ten dollars for this box. Here is your money,” 
and Barker drew out ten loose bills and laid them 
on the table. Instantly returning his right 


A THRILLING MOMENT— CONCLUSION. 199 

hand to the breast of his coat, he produced his 
revolver. 

“ And now, young man,” he went on, “ this 
box is mine, and I shall defend my property. Stir 
from that chair or make any noise, and I will 
shoot you like a dog. And, listen to me! You 
will not, like a fool, complain to the police that 
you have been robbed. You would gain nothing 
by making such a false charge. We are alone 
here; you would have no witnesses — it would be 
merely your word against mine, and mine would 
lie believed. You understand me! ” 

With these words he snatched the box and 
turned to leave the room. 

But Barker did not get far with the box. As 
he reached the door he found himself confronted 
by Ben Archer and Foxglove. 

“ Stop him ! He has my box ! ” cried Walter. 

Ben, tall and powerful, leaped upon Barker. 
In an instant he had his arms pinioned to his side 
in a grip like that of a vise. The revolver 
dropped harmlessly from his hand. His strug- 
gles were as idle as those of a mouse in the jaws 
of a cat. 


200 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


“ You take it quiet, now,” observed big Ben 
Archer, “ or I may pinch you and hurt you, and 
that would be a pity.” 

“ You have him all right, Ben? ” 

“ I have, Walter; it don’t matter to me if he 
does kick a bit. He’s tight enough.” 

The gas was turned up full and it was then seen 
that Mr. Barker was perfectly safe, but half suffo- 
cated in Ben’s powerful embrace. The revolver 
was picked up and deposited in the wash-hand 
basin. 

This turn in affairs had come about very 
simply. Ben and Foxglove had come to make a 
call, and, finding the front door wide open, had 
come up without knocking. 

“ Don’t choke me,” coughed Barker. “ Let 
me go. You boys can have those dollar bills, I 
give them to you; but I wish to go.” 

“Your money,” said Walter, “will go where 
you go, and that will be to the police station.” 

“ You will observe, Mr. Barker,” added Fox- 
glove, “that as this attempted robbery, with a 
threat of murder, was made in the presence of 
two witnesses, the charge will be better supported 


A THRILLING MOMENT— CONCLUSION. 2O1 


than you had anticipated. Take care of your 
prisoner, Ben, while I fetch a policeman.” 

The policeman was brought, and Barker spent 
that night in a police cell. 

Barker was next morning charged with the at- 
tempted robbery; Walter, Foxglove, Brown, and 
Ben Archer appearing as witnesses against him. 
He was committed for trial, bail being refused; 
and a whisper went round the court that a more 
serious charge would probably be brought against 
the prisoner before he was released. 

This proved to be correct. By Mr. Pomeroy’s 
advice, an able lawyer was engaged to examine 
the papers in the tin box. Mr. Romaine’s state- 
ment was found to be formal and duly attested 
and to be substantiated by other documents which 
he had placed with it. The real forger was 
shown not to have been Henry Blarcomb, but 
Ralph Barker, and the latter person was accord- 
ingly indicted for conspiracy and perjury. 

The trial, when it came on, caused no little 
public interest, and there was especial excitement 
in the court when Henry Blarcomb was placed in 
the witness box. The result was that Barker 


202 


WALTER LORING'S CAREER. 


was convicted and sentenced, and the character 
of Mr. Blarcomb was declared to be completely- 
cleared. 

But this was not the best of the good news. In 
the bottom of the box was found an envelope ad- 
dressed to Walter, with the words added, “ from 
your well-wisher, Archibald Romaine.” The 
envelope contained five new five-hundred-dollar 
bills! 

With this money the boy and his father were 
able to settle themselves comfortably, and Walter 
applied himself diligently to art. To-day there 
is no sculptor in America better known than Wal- 
ter Loring Blarcomb. He has gained a name 
and fame at last. 


THE END. 



THE FAMOUS 

HENTY BOOKS 

The Boys^ Own Library 

l2mo, Qoth 

G. A. Henty has long held the field as the 
most popular boys’ author. Age after age 
of heroic deeds has been the subject of his 

g en, and the knights of old seem very real in 
is pages. Always wholesome and manly, 
always heroic and of high ideals, his books 
are more than popular wherever the English 
language is spoken. 

Each volume is printed on excellent paper 
from new large-type plates, bound in cloth, 
assorted colors, with an attractive ink and 
gold stamp. Price 75 Cents. 


A Final Reckoning 

A Tale of Bush Life in Australia 
By England's Aid 

The Freeing of the Netherlands 
By Right of Conquest 

A Tale of Cortez in Mexico 
Bravest of the Brave 

A Tale of Peterborough in Spain 
By Pike and Dyke 

The Rise of the Dutch Republic 
By Sheer Pluck 

A Tale of the Ashantee War 
Bonnie Prince Charlie 

A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden 
Captain Bayley’s Heir 
A Tale of the Gold Fields of California 
Cat of Bubastes 

A Story of Ancient Egypt 
Cornet cf Horse 

A Tale of Marlborough’s Wars 
Facing Death 

A Tale of the Coal Mines 
Friends, though Divided 

A Tale of the Civil War in England 
For Name and Fame 

A Tale of Afghan Warfare 
For the Temple 

A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem 
In Freedom’s Cause 

A Story of Wallace and Bruce 
In the Reign of Terror 
The Adventures of a Westminster Boy 
In Times of Peril A Tale of India 

i ack Archer A Tale of the Crimea 

,ion of St. Mark 

A Tale ef Venice in the XIV. Century 


Lion of the North 

A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus 
Maori and Settler 

A Tale of the New Zealand War 
Orange and Green 

A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick 
One of the aSth 

A Tale of Waterloo 
Out on the Pampas 

A Tale of South America 
St. George for England 

A Tale of Crecy and Poictiers 
True to the Old Flag 

A Tale of the Revolution 
The Young Colonists 

A Tale of the Zulu and Boer Wars 
The Dragon and the Raven 

A Tale of King Alfred 
The Boy Knight 

A Tale of the Crusades 
Through the Fray 

A Story of the Luddite Riots 
Under Drake’s Flag 

A Tale of the Spanish Main 
With Wolfe in Canada 

The Tale of Winning a Continent 
With Clive in India 

The Beginning of an Empire 
With Lee in Virginia 

A Story of the American Civil War 
Young Carthaginian 

A Scory of the Times of Hannibal 
Young Buglers 

A Tale of the Peninsular War 
Young Franc-Tireurs 

A Tale of the Franco-PruMwn War 


w THE MERSHON COMPANY 

i56 Fifth Aveauet New York Rahway, N. J* 


FLAG OF FREEDOM SERIES 


By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL 


Volumes Illustrated, Bound in Cloth, with a very Attractive 
Cover, Price $\.2S per Volume, or Set of 
Four in Box for $5.00 


THE YOUNG BANDMASTER ; or, Concert Stage and Battlefield 

In this tale Captain Bonehill touches upon a new field. The hero is a 
youth with a passion for music, who, compelled to make his own way in 
the world, becomes a cornetist in an orchestra and works his way up, 
first to the position of a soloist, and then to that of leader of a brass 
band. He is carried off to sea and falls in with a secret-service cutter 
bound for Cuba, and while in that island joins a military band which 
accompanied our soldiers in the never-to-be-forgotten attack on Santiago. 
A mystery connected with the hero’s inheritance adds to the interest of 
the tale. 


OFF FOR HAWAII; or. The Mystery of a Great Volcano 


Here we have fact and romance cleverly interwoven. Several boys start 
on a tour of the Hawaiian Islands. They have heard that there is a treasure 
located in the vicinity of Kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, 
and go in search of it. Their numerous adventures will be followed with 
much interest. 


A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY ; or, Afloat in the Philippines 


The story of Dewey’s victory in Manila Bay will never grow old, but here 
we have it told in a new form — not.as those in command witnessed the 
contest, but as it appeared to a real, live American youth who was in the 
navy at the time. Many adventures in Manila and in the interior follow, 
giving true-to-life scenes from this remote portion of the globe. A book 
that should be in every boy’s libi'ary. 


WHEN SANTIAGO FELL ; or, The War Adventures of Two Chums 


Captain Bonehill has never penned a better tale than this stirring story of 
adventures in Cuba. Two boys, an American and his Cuban chum, leave 
New York to join their parents in the interior of Cuba. The war between 
Spain and the Cubans is on, and the boys are detained at Santiago de Cuba, 
but escape by crossing the bay at night. Many adventures between the 
lines follow, and a good pen-picture of General Garcia is given. The 
American lad, with others, is captured and cast into a dungeon in Santiago ; 
and then follows the never-to-be-forgotten campaign in Cuba under 
General Shatter. How the hero finally escapes makes reading no wide- 
awake boy will want to miss. 


PRESS OPINIONS OF CAPTAIN BONEHILL’S BOOKS FOR BOYS 


“ Captain bonehill’s stories will always be popular with our boys, for the reason 
that they are thoroughly up-to-date and true to life. As a writer of outdoor tales 
he has no rival .” — Bright Days. 

” The story is by Captain Ralph Bonehill, and that is all that need be said about it, 
for all of our readers know that the captain is one of America’s best story-tellers, so 
far as stories for young people %o."— Young People of America. 

‘‘We understand that Captain Bonehill will soon be turning from sporting stories 
to tales of the war. This field is one in which he should feel thoroughly at home. 
We are certain that the boys will look eagerly for the Bonehill war tales .” — Weekly 
Messenger. 


(>) 


THE MERSHON COMPANY 


J54 Fiftfi Avenue, New York 


Rahway, N. J. 


Mrs^ Meade^s 

FAMOUS BOOKS 
FOR GIRLS 

l2mo, Cloth Price $t.25 


There are few more favorite authors 
with American girls than Mrs. L. T. 

Meade, whose copyright works can 
only be had from us. Essentially a 
writer for the home, with the loftiest 
aims and purest sentiments, Mrs. Meade’s books possess the 
merit of utility as well as the means of amusement. They 
are girls’ books — written for girls, and fitted for every home. 

Here will be found no maudlin nonsense as to the affections. 
There are no counts in disguise nor castles in Spain. It is pure 
and wholesome literature of a high order with a lofty ideal. 

The volumes are all copyright, excellently printed with clear, 
open type, uniformly bound in best cloth, with ink and gold stamp. 



THE FOLLOWING ARE THE TITLES 


The Children of Wilton Chase 
Bashful Fifteen 
Betty: A Schoolgirl 
Four on an Island 
Girls New and Old 
Out of the Fashion 
The Palace Beautiful 
Polly, a New-Fashioned Girl 
Red Rose and Tiger Lily 
Temptation of Olive Latimer 


A Ring of Rubies 
A Sweet Girl Graduate 
A World of Girls 
Good Luck 

A Girl in Ten Thousand 
A Young Mutineer 
Wild Kitty 

The Children's Pilgrimage 
The Girls of St. Wode's 
Light o' the Morning 


(3) THE MERSHON COMPANY 

J56 Fifth Ave., New York Rahway, N. J, 


Edward Ellis^ 

POPULAR 
BOYS^ BOOKS 

}2mo» Qoth Price 

Purely American in scene, plot, 
motives, and characters, the copy- 
right works of Edward S. Ellis 
have been deservedly popular with 
the youth of America. In a com- 
munity where every native-born 
boy can aspire to the highest of- 
fices, such a book as Ellis’ “ From the Throttle to the President’s 
Chair," detailing the progress of the sturdy son of the people 
from locomotive engineer to the presidency of a great railroad, 
must always be popular. The youth of the land which boasts 
of a Vanderbilt will ever desire such books, and naturally will 
desire stories of their native land before wandering over 
foreign climes. 

The volumes of this series are all copyright, printed from 
large new type, on good paper, and are handsomely bound 
in cloth, stamped with appropriate designs. 

THE FOLLOWING COMPRISE THE TITLES 
Down the Mississippi 

From the Throttle to the Presidents Chair 
Up the Tapajos 

Tad; or, '^Getting: Even" with Him 
Lost in Samoa 

Red Plume Lost in the "Wilds 

A Waif of the Mountains 
Land of Wonders 

Through Jungle and Wilderness 
Life of Kit Carson 


U) THE MERSHON COMPANY 

156 Fifth Avc., New York Rahway, N . }, 






NCV 12 1900 



r 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


□ □□2]il7aH33 



